


Sense and Sensibility

by BluSkates



Series: Glitters [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Antisemitism, Hate Speech, M/M, Original Character(s), Violent Thoughts, abuse to come, domestic violence to come, will become violent quickly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-02-24 03:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 44,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13205118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluSkates/pseuds/BluSkates
Summary: Mikhail Volkov's perspective as his interest grows into obsession over Victor.  This is meant to be a companion series to the Glittering Youth line by Den.





	1. Sense and Sensibility

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to Den for late night brainstorming sessions, editing and beta-reading my work, being awesome in general, and encouraging me to create this POV for her series.

[Every Breath You Take](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oToFkeC0a4s)

His day at work started precisely as it always did, much to his peevish satisfaction. One column of red numbers ran down one side of the ledger, the other side contained the black numbers. The bottom was entirely black. All rows added up, subtracted neatly, and came together in a perfect order. It was entirely fictional. The real accounts book he kept on his computer which sat in the satchel next to his chair. This was for the government inspectors that came through to “check the books”...look for bribes and handouts was more likely. But Mikhail Volkov wasn’t in the habit of rewarding sloppiness. And that’s all the cops were these days, sloppy little gophers running endless errands for his uncle.

He locked the fictional books in the official office safe, then pulled out the actual books which held the information of millions of dollars traveling quickly across the globe. Since his family took over control of the St. Petersburg Bratva more than a decade ago, they managed to use the docks that shipped out in the Gulf of Finland to increase the revenue tenfold. Global markets opened up, the police became more corrupt as the economy fell thanks to irresponsible spending in The States. He ran drugs, guns, and girls. But it was the shuffling of money were Mikhail really shone.

“Boss, there’s a call in from Tallinn,” one of the men working the latest collection said. He handed over the cell dedicated to the dock and left. Behind the door were the sobs of the latest catches.

“Fine...No, hold on.” Mikhail strained his neck to look around the door and into the cold of the warehouse. A group of teenagers, all stripped naked, stood huddling together. The boys, removed of their bravery cowered into the girls for warmth. “The one with light hair, bring him here.”

The worker gave him a look, “Boss…this shipment is for The States…”

“I’m not going to keep him.” Mikhail rolled his eyes. The boy was moved into the room and directed to sit in the chair. Mikhail exhaled, pleased as he saw the boy was barely in his 20s and scared out of his mind, but able to hold it in. Turning his attention to the phone, “What?”

The voice was tinny over the phone, “The workers here opened a case, by accident…” Mikhail snorted, the workers took little trinkets as they felt. “One was marked for Canada, supposed to be filled with those knock-off iPads...but it’s empty. What do you want us to do?”

 _Fuck!_ Mikhail clenched a fist. This scheme had been going so well. But he got careless on one detail, the workers like to pick a little treat for themselves sometimes. Sending empty crates to Canada to be filled with merchandise to go the States allowed for a better use of the money, one that lined Mikhail’s pockets well. “Send it along, but keep this quiet.”

“Boss, the crates are all empty, I checked…”

 _Goddammit, I don’t have time for this._ Changing his tactic he adopted a concerned tone, “What do you mean?”

“Five the crates marked for Canada are empty.”

“And you checked them? Are you sure your men didn’t…”

“No. They had gone home. It’s just me here.”

Good.

“Okay, I want you to listen closely. Seal up those boxes, put the shipping manifests back on. I’m sending out our locals to pick them up and look into this. Stay there until they get there.”

The man sighed, but agreed. Hanging up Mikhail turned his eyes back to the boy. _I had planned to be nice, but…_

“Come here.” Mikhail rose to stand in front of the desk. When the boy stood before him Mikhail pretended to inspect they body for marks, running his hands gently down the sides, waiting for the boy to relax his posture. When he felt the time was right he slammed his fist into the stomach, watching the boy double over and fall to his knees. “Take me in your mouth, and don’t make a mess.”

He put a rough hand into the blond hair, holding the head down until the boy complied. Picking up the phone he called the contacts in Tallinn, ordering the murder of the head of the dock. Tying up loose ends made him happy. Sloppiness was never to be tolerated.

 

An hour later he was done with the boy who was panting on the floor, sobbing. “I had told you not to make a mess.” A swift kick to the stomach knocked the wind out of the body on the floor. “If you had just been good, I might have kept you. I’ve always wanted a pet.”

He stepped over the boy who forced himself up to follow. “But you’re nowhere near the level of perfection I expect.”

Pushing the boy out the door and towards the crowd he watched as the girls took him into their arms for comfort. Smirking at the idea that any of them were escaping harm. The middle passage alone would probably leave three of them dead before they arrived in the states. The girls were going to the brothels they controlled and the boys to private collectors.

“When does this go out?” Mikhail moved over to two of the workers sitting at a table, enjoying a smoke.

“Ship boards at ten, government workers have been running later each night.” The man turned his attention back to the iPad in front of him, and the video playing.

Mikhail was going to turn away, call his uncle to complain about the sneaky government inspectors who like only wanted more money. He was going to go home, take a hot bath. But his eye caught the video playing. It was figure skating, a sport he never cared for, but the figure was that of a beautiful creature. Floating on the ice, twirling himself, long silver hair wrapping around slender shoulders, a pert heart shaped mouth set on the pale face. Before he could stop himself, Mikhail took the iPad, licking his lips.

“What are you watching?”

The man grunted at the removal of his property. “Figure skating. My daughter loves this stuff. I’m taking her to one of the competitions coming up.”

The other worker at the table smiled warmly. They could sell drugs to children, give guns to gangsters, even sell humans into slavery...all while talking amicably about their children. Villains are complex creatures.

“Which one is this?” Mikhail couldn’t take his eyes off the boy. His body practically made the music. His moves precise, set in time to a tempo that he created...he was perfect.

“That’s Victor Nikiforov.”

“Victor Nikiforov…” _I bet he would be a very good boy._

 

A google search didn’t reveal much, nor did youtube. He could learn more about the skater and less about the boy. His father was never around, his mother, a former dancer and seamstress, died. The boy was moved into the government dorms, then made ward of his coach, then moved again into the athletic dorms for that rink.

_He does what people tell him. He likes to be led._

Mikhail ran a finger over his lips as he watched the performance from Victor’s first junior Worlds appearance. He was thirteen. _Even then you knew to use your body to entice. A minx. A nymph._

He followed him on social media and was able to learn of the boy’s love for books and habits. The first time he saw Victor in the flesh was enchanting.

The boy had taken Makka to a local park, allowing the dog to run about. It had rained the day prior and the mud was still fresh in the warm summer air. The boy seemed a little out of sorts, as if he had suffered a disappointment, and the dog was pulling him from those darker thoughts. Victor would smile as the large poodle chased after pigeons and splashed through a puddle, then ran up and sloppily licked the boy’s face.

Mikhail grimaced at the spectacle. His perfect angel accepting that filthy animals tongue on his perfect face, the muddy prints left behind as the animal pawed at the boy. Mikhail found a few other imperfections, easily corrected, in his object.

Victor would lose himself in his books, unaware of his surroundings. He tended to over eat on the days he didn’t train. He could be indulgent with his money, giving a ruble to a homeless person, tipping a waitress too much. All of these would be corrected, and soon. Mikhail was making a plan.

 

“Why do you need a spy inside the rink?” Marat sat back in his chair.

Mikhail didn’t have many friends. In truth he had none. Marat worked for his uncle. Mikhail and Marat were alike, ambitious, meticulous, and not burdened with consciences. He would have brought Marat in on his plan to skim funds from the Bratva, but he knew full well that Marat would sell him out for a Star Tatoo in a second...and he would do the same to Marat.

They were as close to friends as they could get.

“I just need a set of eyes in that rink, you have to have someone. A cleaning woman? A mechanic?”

“You know the government provides the hockey team all the drugs they want. You’ll never be able to sell to them.”

“This isn’t about selling drugs. I...I want information on someone.”

Marat changed his posture, sitting forward. “Someone?”

“There’s a skater, Nikiforov…”

“The Darling of Russia? What the hell interests you...oh.” Marat sat back again, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Well, I’ll say this, you have good taste.”

Mikhail’s face darkened in a way that told Marat to tread lightly in this direction. “Marat, I’d like to know more about his movements.”

“Why don’t you just go take him? Save yourself the trouble.”

“I want him to come to me. I want to mold him, perfect him.” There was a picture of Victor on his desk. One of the dozens that were kept in his office. Private investigators had followed the boy to and from his home, to parks, to restaurants, even on exhibition trips. But they couldn’t get into that rink.

“Who runs that rink?”

“Some kike named Feltsman.” Mikhahil ran a finger over the face in the picture.

“Feltsman…” Marat was mulling over the name. “Something about a Feltsman...wait, didn’t the eldest daughter of Baranovsky marry a Jew by the name of Feltsman?”

Mikhail’s hand stilled over Victor’s ponytail... _The Barons...that was the family in a turf war with the Volkov. It was a technical win for us, but a very uneasy truce._ The two families agreed to live side by side, never interacting. It was a difficult dance, but one that had gone on for a decade. _Am I willing to tip the balance of this truce for this boy…_ He knew his answer.

“What are the chances of that being the same one?” He joked, hoping that the sociopath seated across from him would never catch on. “This is Russia, we’ve got more Jews than rats.”

Marat laughed and Mikhail knew he had him. “Okay, I get you someone inside there.”

 

“This is excellent. Perfection.” Mikhail looked at the new suit, cut to look exactly like the one that Japanese man had worn in the pictures from the spring with Victor. It was a cheaper material, but it was a perfect replica.

The mole in the rink proved her worth quickly. She was happy to leave her current job at the brothel and work as a cleaning woman. While some of the skaters would look down on her, like that snotty ice dancer, Anya, she noticed that Victor was a very sweet boy. Always picked up after himself, and looked her in the eye when he said hello. She thought it odd that her duties were to report his schedule once a week, who he talked to, arrived with, left with, what he ate, if he had a cell phone, what his locker number was...everything. She was happy with the job Yakov gave her. Cleaning the stalls, mopping the floor, taking out the trash, were all better than the feeling of sweaty bodies on her, hands ripping into her. And it was those memories that kept her reporting the movements of this little boy.

 

The suit was saved for a special occasion, the Cup of Russia. He had learned that Victor was competing in the event, and staying to support an ice dancing pair he was friends with. Mikhail planned to meet and introduce himself.

From only four rows behind him he could feel Victor’s skin in his hand. The boy would be soft, tender. He would follow any lead given like a faithful little pet. _I can fix up all the other errors, they are so little._

In front of him Victor moved about in his seat, enjoying the performance of the second to last couple to perform. Mikhail couldn’t have cared less about this, silliest sport on Earth. But it did give a chance for his Vitya to show off that lithe little form…Mikhail frowned as he noticed Victor take another handful of popcorn and shove it into his mouth, a few kernels dropping to his lap. Then the gigantic soda was brought to his lips as Victor drank far too much.

_I will not let you ruin that little body and perfect skin with sugar and oil. Oh Vitya, how you need me._

The couple ended with a bow center ice and glided to the barrier. They waved at Victor who darted up and ran over to them. Mikhail was up and out of his seat, but not soon enough. The boy disappeared into their arms and moved to follow them to the kiss and cry. He was out of reach for the rest of the competition. Mikhail returned to the docks the next day in a foul mood.

The men he paid to go through Victor’s apartment left an itemized list on his desk. He scanned it, smirking at the meager means by which the boy lived. One thing stuck out, even more than clothing, this boy liked... _loved_...books. He had more books than shelves. Reading through the titles, he knew only a handful of them.

Wikipedia and sparknotes were able to provide him with enough information to form a profile. The boy was a hopeless romantic. Mikhail pulled out a copy of a perfume ad Victor had done two years ago, the little body was clad in a tuxedo, top hat skewed, and a cocky smirk on his face as he reclined against a large glass container. It was clear to any that the subject of the ad was very uncomfortable with the adult theme, but Mikhail read it as false reticence, one designed to entice even more. _My nymph._

But, back to the task at hand, Mikhail looked at the list, then the skating schedule. The current book was some nonsense by an English woman, _Sense and Sensibility_. He read the notes quickly and found that the heroine meets the man she loves when he saves her after an accident. He stopped reading after that because... _you always know where these things are going._

_If I can’t meet him by chance, I’ll have to make the chance for myself._


	2. Emma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time a beautiful prince was wondering through a dark urban forest. The prince was lost in a day dream when he was attacked by the big bad wolf. Fortunately there was a charming hero there to save him at just the right time... now isn't that a coincidence?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Den and Mags for beta-reading and editing this work. Thank you to Den for allowing me to write the Masha POV of Glittering Youth. This is very fun to slip into such a dark mind!

[Back in the USSR](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h15XWqQQBbs)

“So am I mugging this guy or not?”

Mikhail sighed, a sign that would have shut up any of the regular men that worked with him, but this thug was hired for a special job, an interesting side job, a not-family business job. “Okay, again. I’m going to board the bus, you’re going to board at the same stop as the mark, when you see him disembark you are going to try to reach for the bag and knock him down…”

“So you want me to fuck this guy up?” The thug smiled, to him the plan was finally making sense. “Like break his legs or just fuck up his pretty face?”

“Neither.” Mikhail responded through clenched teeth. _You just can’t find proper villains these days._ “You are going to knock him down, then I’m going to get off the bus and chase you off.”

The thug in front of him just scrunched his face.

Sighing again, Mikhail pinched the bridge of his nose fighting off the urge to just kill the thug, but it was too late to find someone else and it had to be today. _Tuesdays the correct day to meet someone; Tuesdays are green days._ “I’m going to run this guy and I need an in to his life.”

The thug slowly smiled and nodded his head. “Oh. It’s a forced meet-cute.”

“What the fuck is a meet-cute?” _Shit! Why did I ask that? He’ll talk for hours now._

“It’s like in a movie where two people meet because they both ordered the same coffee, or some shit like that. My girl watches movies with them.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s a meet-cute.”

“Except you’re gonna pull a con…” The man’s breath left him as he felt what he knew for a fact was the silenced muzzle of a Walther jammed into his bottom rib. He swallowed audibly. “So I just knock him down, try to grab the bag, wait for you to yell, then run.”

“Exactly,” Mikhail put the gun back into the holster hidden under his jacket. “I knew a clever guy like you could get this.”

 

Mikhail waited at the bus stop, look as conspicuous as possible. Other people’s opinions were never a problem for him. He despised other people. Certainly there were the few he impressed with his knowledge, fine clothing, polished manners, but regular people, these dogs waiting for the bus...he’d rather just poison their drinking water than look upon them.

The tall man with long sharp features glared at his phone for more than a half hour at the bus stop. Mothers pulled their children back from him when they noticed his glare in their direction. Students knew to stand on the opposite side of the cue to avoid his space. There was something...off about this man.

At precisely 3:48, a woman on her way from from her shift as a nurse at the hospital noticed him smiling at his phone. Walking past him close enough, she saw pictures of what she thought was a young girl, but she would report later that it was the figure skater a few of her coworkers “went in for”. The man got a text, swore in approval, unconcerned of the small child in a pram only a few feet away from him. He boarded the 3:52, bus at the corner of Sibirskaya and Bestuzhevskaya heading deeper into the Kalinsky district. Later, she would recall that it was odd seeing this man on the bus when there was an underground going in the same direction and his clothing and demeanour didn’t really lend themselves to public transit at all.

Two students reported that a nasty man in an [ugly green tie](http://img.hottopic.com/is/image/HotTopic/259535_hi) asked them to move so he could stand in the back of the bus. They thought it odd, but surrendered the area to him. There was something...off about the man.

At 4:17, the bus stopped at the Polytechnic University Park where the students disembarked. They made a point to examine the man as they left, noting that he was scanning his eyes for the people getting on. The man’s eyes settled on a young boy with silver hair who seemed absorbed in the book.

At 4:22, a mother struggling with her two children sat down in a seat near a silver-headed boy. She smiled an apology for her son bumping his leg and was met with a friendly smile. The boy looked familiar to her but she couldn’t place it. He turned back to his book and smiled at the literature. She juggled his children and finally managed to get the girl settled in her lap and the boy pacified with a gaming system.

“I loved that book.” She tapped the boy and yelled over the sound of the ancient diesel engine.

He looked over at her and removed an ear bud, smiling when she repeated her assertion.

“They just moved into the cottage. It’s very romantic. I’m hoping Elinor ends up with Edward, but Marianne...I hope there’s a dashing man in this for her.”

She would swear that there wasn’t a sweeter smile in all of St. Petersburg.

“Ah! There is, I can tell by your smile. A dashing man comes to her rescue?”

She smirked, her daughter starting to whimper again and pull on her clothing, “Rescuing is a tricky business, don’t forget about little red riding hood.”

The boy seemed confused but she merely said “google it” not wanting to expose her children to the nasty truth of the woodsman. They rode on until the boy rose to leave, he waved goodbye to the children and disembarked the bus. She was almost knocked out of her seat but a man in a dark suit rushing past her as the doors were closing.

Outside she watched the silver head walk, nose buried in the book. Another man, a villainous looking character checked his phone and looked at the boy, then stood up ran over and made a half-hearted attempt to snatch his satchel. The rude man in the dark suit was there in an instant...a little too soon for her scrupulous mind. The bus pulled forward and she watched the man in the dark suit pull the boy to his feet, then lead him to a bench, placing a hand on the small of his back...something about that reminded her of her mother...it would be thirteen years ago this August her father had murdered her mother. She swore she would never end up with an abuser and two divorces later, she was free of her latest.

 

4:35 precisely as planned.

He watched the little silver head connect with the pavement as the heavy thug knocks him to the ground and begin to wrestle the bag off his body. The boy is still struggling with his head and too confused to put up a fight.

_Athlete...yeah right. It’s just silly dancing on ice. Okay, one last check, 4:36, Go._

“Get off him!” Mikhail grabbed the body of the thug and hurled him off the boy who had scrambled to his back and was starting to gather his thoughts. He threw the villain’s body off the boy and the man made a dash into an alley. They would meet up later for payment.

Viktor brought a hand to his forehead, _If there’s bruise there that man’s dead. This perfect little doll can’t get marked._ Raising his blue eyes to meet the muddy brown of the man offering him assistance, he smiled embarrassed. “Thank you.”

Mikhail helped him into a sitting position on the ground and asked, “Are you okay?”

The boy seemed to concentrate on his body, then say something that Makhail didn’t catch. He was practicing his next line his in head. “Do you live near here?” That line came out as perfectly as he said it this morning. Since creating this scene, he planned everything down to the details including what he would say and how he would say it. 57 times in the mirror this morning “do you live near here?” attempting to sound light and conversational, noncommittal, nonthreatening.

The boy told him where he lived, which Mikhail knew already, and possibly said more...Mikhail couldn’t have cared less about what the boy said. He was focused on getting into this boy’s life. This scene worked so well, he was so proud of Viktor, the way he followed him, gave him his hand, his light touch, gentle voice, he would reward his little doll. The rest can be corrected out of him. _Viktor is so close to perfection, this won’t be hard on either of us._

 

The first stumbling block was that fucking dog. _I’ll have to get rid of you._ He had met the dog when he walked through Viktor’s dorm room that morning while the boy was at skate. He had brought a bottle of antifreeze, hoping to poison the dog but then... _wait, if I kill the dog he will whine and pout for at least a week. Viktor, I hope you can see how much I’m willing to tolerate for you._ He screwed the cap back on and stomped, scaring the dog into the bathroom with a whimper.

Above the bed was a bookshelf, more books, and bunnies. _You really are a sweet baby. I will keep you as a sweet baby, just put yourself in my hands, Viktor._ One bunny stuck out, it was rested on the center of the bed. It looked worn, and was made of a smoother felt than the others, which were fluffier. He picked it up and inspected it... _is this fucking thing frowning at me?_

_Damn right I am, asshat._ Douglas felt this piece of human garbage walking down the hallway, he could see him coming before he even entered the small living space. Mikhail was preceded and followed by the sharp black angles that moved and crinkled and clashed against the walls and floors. While others cast shadows, Mikhail shattered the shadows, destroying the projections of others, their ideas of themselves, their self-esteem. Douglas despised him.

Mikhail shook the little rag doll rabbit.

_Shake away. I’m still here. I’ll be here long after you’re gone._

“I’ll get rid of the dog and you.” He tossed the rabbit back onto the bed, unconcerned with the position.

_No you won’t._ Douglas worried as the man left the apartment, closing the door softly behind him. The dog came out of the bathroom and looked at the bunny, _He’s gone, but he’ll be back._ The dog hopped up on the bed, using his nose to place the bunny back into its post. Stay close to me.

 

“Do you mind if I order for the two of us?”

Viktor’s blush was enchanting. The little boy was behaving exactly as he should. He remained still in the car as he was buckled in, he waited for Mikhail to lead him, and now he was perfectly appreciative of the hard work Mikhail had gone through to take him here tonight.

Earlier that week he had to have a very serious conversation with the maître d' . “I’m getting a nice table, for two, at 7:30, in a secluded corner.” He brought his fist into the man’s stomach once more, ignoring the trickle of blood falling from the lips. “Now, I’m getting very tired of this conversation. So you can open up this book, call and cancel someone, or I can do something you won’t walk away from.” Mikhail played with a pair of scissors on the table in the backroom of Palkin. The good fortune of knowing that all the alcohol in the bar of this posh establishment came illegally through Mikhail’s family.

“Give me the book.” The maître d' took a shaking breath in and punched in the number to their newest customers, after listening to a screaming woman he hung up.

Mikhail was smiling down at him, “Was it really that hard?” He pulled on his coat and snapped his fingers at the two men who were helping themselves to shots as the bartender and cooks stood by terrified. “I’ll see you all later this week. Let’s make sure my date has a good time. He’s a precious boy.”

The bartender shuddered. _Someone just walked over my grave._

Now there was Viktor sitting, sparkling in the low light, his eyes dancing around the room, taking it all in. _I can give all of this to you, my little boy._

Without looking at the waiter, he began to place their order, stopping at drinks. “I think red wine, perhaps the Rioja reserva...or perhaps the Rhône.” Viktor wasn’t paying attention, that would need to be corrected. He thought of a baiting statement to focus the boy. “Wine is okay, isn’t it?”

Viktor blushed perfectly and asserted that he could drink, something of a sulk appearing on that precious mouth. The waiter, who had arrived early to work a few days back to see the scene this man caused walked off to the bar to put in the drink orders.

Ivan the bartender frowned. He pulled out his key to the wine safe. Going in he found two bottles, the Rhône, a fine brew and one of the best wines the restaurant had. He opened it, and poured it right down the sink.

“What the hell are you doing?” The waiter had followed him.

“Whatever happens to that boy tonight, it’s not on my head. Do you want it on yours?” Ivan placed the empty bottle on the table.

“No.” The waiter pulled a cheap bottle of red wine with the lowest proof count they could offer. They kind they served the Americans. He pulled a funnel out and, once uncorked, poured the wine into the bottle.

“May I pour for your sir?” The waiter didn’t wait for a response, simply pouring small amounts into the glasses and settling the bottle the table.

Mikhail picked up the glass from the globe and raised it to Viktor, “To the end of your adventure.”

Viktor quirked his head, “Pardon?”

“Well, it’s like in a movie. A person is hurt, then rescued by the person they are meant to be with. End of the adventure.”

Viktor smiled, _it’s a lame line, but he’s trying to impress me._ “Thank you.”

They each took a sip, Viktor picking up on a sour metallic taste. Mikhail sighing and announcing it delicious and rich.

_Oh. Maybe I’m wrong._

 

“You were beautiful!” He leaned over the railing separating the audience from the skaters to hand Viktor the single red rose. It was perfectly timed, the cameras were running and that trash Katsuki was undoubtedly watching. _Salivate all you want, this is mine to flaunt as I like._

Dinner was another nightmare. Viktor wanted to spend time with the atrocious people he skated with. _Why can’t you see they are so beneath what I can offer you? You should want to focus all of your attention on me._ In his head he was tallying up the corrections he would have to make. The dog would go, as would that bunny... _I swear that fucking thing laughed at me last time I walked through his dorm...and the dorm, it was a mess._ Clothing waiting to be put away, books scattered about, nothing organized, nothing perfect. _Oh Viktor, where would you be if I hadn’t decided to make you mine?_

He ran a hand down the silver pony tale, letting his fingers snag at the end. Viktor turned to him immediately, Mikhail smiled. _Good boy, now focus._

The waiter came, orders were put in. At Victor’s turn he smiled, “I’d like to try the chicken parm.”

Dmitry smiled affectionately, “Leave it to Vitya; now that the competition is over, he helpless to the call of his tastebuds.”

The table laughed, including his beautiful Viktor. Tapping the wrist twice he watched Viktor straighten in his chair, “Are you sure you want to do that, _lyubov moy_? I’d hate to see all of that hard work you put into keeping your figure go to waste.” He watched as Viktor blinked then reexamined the menu flustered.

“Yeah, uhm...I don’t know.”

In the end Mikhail ended up putting in the order, brown rice, steamed vegetables, fish with no sauce. He also ensured that Viktor left at least half of it on the plate. At the end of the meal, he raised an eyebrow to that bitch Katya who had been glaring daggers at him since they met.

_He answers to me now, bitch. Perhaps I’ll add you to my list of corrections._

 

Two days later, he sent Viktor a bento with a series of instructions for meals he had gotten from some pro-Ana Stateside website. He knew Viktor would clap his hands like a good little boy at the gift. It was a two piece Bento, with little white bunnies on a blue background. He even had a man working for him drop off the groceries to ensure that his instructions were followed to perfection.

Arriving at six sharp, he knocked on the door twice and heard Viktor move around the room before opening the door. Mikhail walked in, taking in the sight and frowning.

Bed unmade; clothing draped over the kitchen chair; hair in disarray; shirt untucked; no makeup.

“Viten’ka, I want to help you.” He threaded his hand into the hair, tugging a little and watching Viktor squirm beneath him.

“Masha, not so hard.”

“My baby can take it.” He moved to the fridge, there sat the Bento, all packed. “Ready for tomorrow, I’m proud of you.” He took it out and scowled immediately. “Vitenka, show me the instructions I sent.”

Viktor blinked, pulling them off the table where Viktor had tossed them without even looking. He handed them to Mikhail who exhaled. He emptied the Bento into the trash and held up a hand to silence Viktor’s protests.

“I would like you to do this again, to perfection please.”

Viktor pulled out the list of foods, and counting them out into the bento. When he was done he turned to face Mikhail who was beaming with approval.

“I knew you would do it. I’m so proud of you.” He leaned in kissing Viktor passionately, licking at the lips which parted a little hesitant. _That’s okay, good boys should be a little afraid of sex._ “Now, I want you to think about skating, you do something until it’s perfect, practicing it over and over again, making that single move flawless, then move on to the next thing to perfect, yes?”

_No, that's idiotic. I practice, make mistakes, walk away. Try again later._ Viktor frowned, “Yes.”

“So I want you to be just as perfect at everything. Okay?” He pulled up Viktor’s shirt, his warm rough hand exploring the soft flesh underneath. He heard Viktor’s breath hitch as he caught the nipple. “When you do something perfectly you get a reward…” he squeezed gently and watched the blue eyes close in delight. “But when you are bad you have to be corrected.” His hand slide down to the flesh over the stomach, hardened abs crisscrossed the taut tummy but there was a slight softness to the side. He pinched hard into the flesh, a bruise rising up immediately. Viktor’s eyes flew open in pain. “I don’t want this. I want what you want.” His hand ran down to the clothed crotch, a small erection beginning. _Don’t get greedy Vitya, it’s for me to give you when I feel you deserve it._

“Now, let’s have you clean up, then I can think about rewarding a good boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Persuasion is next.


	3. Persuasion Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Den and Mags for reading and editing this increasingly dark work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor is assaulted by Masha in this. While it might not come across as rape to people I wrote it that way. It's ambiguous to show the struggle that Victor feels while in this relationship and the skilled manipulation that Masha uses against him.  
> I'm going to change tags to update that if it's not already. Please don't read if you are easily upset with this scenario. Also don't read if you think Alios Trancy is a good dresser. He's not.

“So you design these yourself?” Mikhail’s hand rested on Victor’s shoulder gently, but occasionally gave a firm squeeze as he peered over the slender frame to the sketchbook full of designs.

“Yeah, I even made the earlier ones myself.” 

“My poor little Viten’ka.” He took Victor’s fingers and kissed the tips tenderly. “Working to make costumes. But you don’t have to worry about that. I can take care of that cost for you now.”

Victor smiled, _it’s nice he wants to help but Jesus how many more times do I have to explain that I do this for a living_. “Masha, that’s sweet, but my sponsors take care of that. The government covers my living expenses, and my job at the rink makes up for everything else. Besides, Yakov handles all my money…”

Masha hummed suspiciously, “I know you love that old man. But you need to be careful with money. You should really let me handle this. I am an accountant. You can always trust accountants. We’re just too boring to get into trouble.”

That earned him a musical giggle from the silver haired beauty. “Oh Masha, Yakov does a fine job.” He turned the page to his latest designs.

Masha tapped on the original design for his free skate. “This is what you wear now?”

Victor smiled, _finally_. “Yes, I have this one made from this design, but I’ve changed a few things.”

“Well, I’m sorry you didn’t stay with the original neckline and the cut out sides.” Masha ran a hand down Victor’s locks.

“It was much too low cut. The judges could deduct points for something like that. And the sides were mesh not cut out, but I don’t like that look. Too Johnny Weir.”

“I want to see it up close,” Masha was moving towards his closet, opening it before Victor could protest. The look of annoyance flashed over his face, darkening it, before he collected himself. “Victor, this closet is still a mess. How can you find anything?”

Victor chewed his lip, _this can go two ways, just try to appeal to his playful side and avoid the lecture_. “I live in a suitcase most of the time, so it really doesn’t matter.” He came up along side of Masha, running a hand up his back, “Did you want to see the costume?” He reached in, lightly brushing Masha’s chest as he did, and pulled the garment bag out from the closet. He hung it on the hook and unzippered it, revealing the gorgeous jumpsuit designed to look like a three piece, jacketless suit of Gothic revival.

Masha ran his fingers down the sleeves, whistling at the lace cuff and the gorgeous lace ruffle at the throat. The cuts of the mock vest were a rich velvet cut with silk. The white of the faux shirt were a silken fabric of off white, and almost shown as a pearlescence in the light. Mikhail felt is arousal rising in his body. “Try this on for me.”

To his side Victor shuddered, there was something menacing in the way he...asked? Demanded? “Oh, I need to have it laundered, it’s stinky from the rink.” He zippered it up quickly, packing the costume away.

Mikhail hummed in disapproval, but dropped it, turning his eyes back to the sketch book on the desk. “That’s a good style for you.”

Victor exhaled, _dodged that bullet_. “Thanks, but that’s not really my style, it’s just the character I was playing.”

“Do you have more like it?” Masha asked, for a moment Victor wondered if he had even heard him speak.

“I am working on something for a friend.” He pulled out a book, _thank god I never draw faces_. He opened to the page, a basic black jumpsuit was embellished with large crystals running from the right shoulder across the chest to the waist. The sides were cut narrow, and the use of mesh cut outs implied a very narrow, wasp-waist. The hips were accentuated with a flared skirt, undercut with scarlet. The entire costume was very mature, very sensual, very sexy.

“Wow. You are a good friend. This is amazing.” Masha’s voice was husky behind him.

Victor turned and smiled up into Mikhail’s face. For a moment Victor froze his smile, there was something in Masha’s eye that felt...off.

Mikhail brushed a tender kiss into Victor’s hairline and the warmth of the lips pushed away any misgivings the boy had. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend... _boyfriend, that feels so good_.

Victor had his doubts when he first started dating Masha. There were odd little bits that didn’t fit together. They always ate at nice restaurants, but Masha would always insist on ordering for him. His clothing looked nice, but felt cheap to the touch. His car was stunning, and he kept it immaculate, but it was almost too clean. His apartment was in the nicest building, but the furniture was kind of thrown together, like everything was from some cheap website and hastily selected. There was no consistency, no style to speak of... Everything was mismatched and ill fitted. Victor smiled, kissing Masha lightly on the lips, remembering the first time he had visited his boyfriend’s apartment. It was in the poshest part of the city…

“Masha,” Victor pulled back with a playful smile on his lips. “What business did you have near the rink that day?”

Mikhail pulled Victor closer, stealing the question with firm kisses, pushing the boy towards the bed and letting him fall into the mattress. “It was fate, I guess. Who cares?” His hands were pulling at the hem of Victor’s shirt and exploring the firm flesh underneath.

Victor relaxed to the touch, kissing, touching, these were part of what he wanted. In his mind he was on a bigger bed, softer mattress, the hands were warmer and belonged to someone else… His eye snapped open as he felt his belt being unbuckled.

“Uhm...Masha,” Victor began to squirm away, knocking into the bunny seated by the pillows at the head. The hands didn’t stop, the face chased his, opening his lips and exploring in with a large tongue. Suddenly the kissing and touching were not something he wanted. They came with something larger, something he wasn’t ready for. “Masha, please stop.” He tried to push against his boyfriend, only to find he was too heavy. Victor used his legs to push himself away, further up the bed and away from the hands that were working their way into his jeans. “Stop!”

Mikhail’s head snapped up, his eyes were horrifying. Victor grabbed the bunny next to him, clutching it to his chest.

“I’m sorry.” Victor’s voice came out small, his eyes dropped. He curled himself into a ball, pulling his legs away from Mikhail. “I’m not ready for that.”

Mikhail huffed, ran a hand through his hair. He pulled himself up from the bed and adjusted his pants. Victor blushed, seeing the obvious erection through the thin material. “Fucking tease.”

Victor blanched, blinking back tears. “Masha, I’m sorry…”

“You play that game well. Little boy, not ready for sex but very ready to lead me on.” He picked up his jacket and keys from the table, “when you feel like being an adult let me know.”

Victor jumped at the sound of his door slamming shut. He remained frozen on the bed for a few moments, then heard the pawing at the bathroom door and remembered that Makka had been locked in there this entire time.

“I’m sorry girl,” he opened the door to the pup letting her lick his face all over. Burying himself in her fur he let out a shuddered breath. “I did lead him on. That whole thing with the closet, touching him like that…” _But I just didn’t want to listen to another lecture about my stuff_.

“Let’s take you out.” He put the poodle on her leash and allowed her to lead him to the park across the street.

Lost in his thoughts, he played over the scene from earlier, examining where he went wrong, how he should have steered the conversation. Then the scene changed, Yuuri was in Masha’s place, Yuuri’s hands were running up his body. Victor sucked in a breath of cold air, calming himself. _But he doesn’t want me. I have a perfectly fine man who wants me, I can’t keep pretending about a guy who ran from me_.

_We have to work with what we have, Vitya_. His mother would say as she pulled apart a tutu to build it into another one. Another salvaged costume for another dancer. Using the materials and tools she had, never lamenting the loss of better.

_I wonder what she would think of Masha?_

 

Two days later, Victor was walking up to his apartment when a familiar car pulled up at the curb. He smiled at the familiarity. After all, it’s better than loneliness, right?

“Hey.” A voice called from within the car over the music.

“Hey yourself.” Victor leaned in the window. Mikhail’s face had softened since the fight. He looked…

“I’m a asshat.” Mikhail held out a hand. “I’m sorry, I just… you honestly don’t know the effect you have on me, do you?”

Victor blushed at the praise and pseudo-complement. “It’s okay, I’m glad you came by. Do you want to come up?”

“Yeah, I’ll park and meet you up there.”

Victor stood back and watched the car disappear around the corner to a parking garage. He made his way into the building and his apartment. The family across the hall had watched Makka and he asked if they could hold onto the girl for a little while longer. The mother agreed readily, the little boy loved the older dog.

He moved through his apartment quickly, setting things in order and straightening the closets. _It’s just easier to avoid the quarrels_. He had finished coordinating everything when he heard the sharp double wrap at the door feeling a shiver work its way up his spine. For some reason, even though he knew it was coming, it didn’t soften the noise in the least.

“Come in,” he opened the door to Masha who moved in swiftly with a large box and a bouquet of roses.

“I wanted to get you something to show you how sorry I was...am.” Masha handed over the roses, still wrapped in the bag from the grocery store down the street.

Victor smiled at the offering, _he means well, just not the romantic type_. He took the roses and put them in water then turned. Masha had lain the large box on the bed, motioning to it. Victor crossed the small space with a curious smile on his lips.

“After looking at the costume, I was a little inspired by you.” He watched Victor’s little face light up under the complement. “I can see how creative you are, and I thought I would try my hand at that.” He caught Victor’s eyes, the little blue pools were sparkling. “Now, I can’t sew like you, but I did create this, just for you.”

Victor warmed at the thought, _no matter what this is I’m going to love it. Finally, he’s getting it_. Masha’s hands removed the lid and pushed off the tissue paper revealing... _what the fuck is this?_ Victor smile faltered only a second before Victor forced it back in place, looking at Masha. “Uhm…”

“No. I know. It’s a little...out there.” Masha put the box into Victor’s hands and guided the younger man to the bathroom, “but please, I worked really hard. It reminded me of your free skate. You can try it on, just for me?”

Victor squirmed a little. He was torn, on one hand his boyfriend was finally starting to show signs of understanding and appreciating his creativity on the other hand...was this. “Just in here, okay?”

“Of course.” Masha closed the space between them, kissing firmly against Victor’s lips, “I would never let anyone see my little beauty in this.”

_Good, because neither would I._

In the bathroom Victor discovered exactly what he thought he would. The material was cheap to the point of flimsy, the seams were so tight and thin he worried that a sneeze would end the cheap suit. And as far as _I made this myself_ … Victor examined himself in the full length mirror he kept on the bathroom door. _I have watched Black Butler, I know what[Alois Trancy](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1W20fNVXXXXbGXpXXq6xXFXXXu/Black-Butler-Kuroshitsuji-Alois-Trancy-Cosplay-Wig-Free-Shipping-for-Halloween-and-Christmas.jpg_640x640.jpg) wore_. The shorts were cut so tight and high against the curve of his ass he had to forgo underwear, the long black stockings were thigh-high tights, probably bought from a cheap lingerie store for women. The white shirt was a mess of ruffles and over it went a wine-red vest, cut far too tight and fit more like a corset.

“Are you decent?” Masha voice was light outside the door.

_No_. “Almost.” Victor pulled his hair back into a pony tale, noticing that the sleeves were cut too short and he couldn’t raise his hand over his head without tearing at the armpits. He rolled his eyes, tempted to pull the entire get up off, toss it back and the box and tell Masha he could take his cheap gifts and grocery store flowers and leave. Then a small voice reminded him that this man was trying, and Yuuri hadn’t even texted. Victor met his eyes in the mirror forcing a smile and opening the door.

Masha’s face darkened in a possessive desire at the vision in front of him. “My perfect little angel.”

Victor giggled at the response. “But I can’t wear this out, and no pictures!”

Masha took him into his arms, “absolutely not. You are for me and me alone.” He began kissing at Victor’s throat and a warm feeling began building in him. Victor moaned at the feeling of the tongue and teeth at his throat, the hands at his back, massaging the globes of his ass through the thin fabric. “You taste amazing.” Masha’s fingers slid up the leg holes of the shorts and Victor gasped as Masha tickled his entrance. “Exactly what I had hoped, you read my mind.”

“Masha...I didn’t mean...I’m not ready…” Victor tried to pull back, his arm moving too fast and the seam of his armpit ripping.

Masha stopped, pulling the arm up, revealing the hole. Hurt eyes met Victor’s, “What the hell is wrong with you?” He dropped the arm and shoved the little body away from him. “I just can’t do anything to please you, can I?” Masha moved back to the door.

Victor stopped, he saw the hurt in the man’s eyes, “I can fix it.” He crossed over to Masha, taking his hand, “I can fix the hole. It’s just...sex...I’m not ready for that, yet.”

Mikhail softened his face, this was going exactly as he’d hoped, right down to the ripped seam. “Of course you can. You’re so talented. And as far as sex, honey I’ll wait for as long as you need, but you’ll never know what you are ready for if you don’t experiment a little.” He walked Victor backwards to the bed, seating the little body and kneeling front. Masha crawled over the bed and motioned for Victor to lay down, facing him. Rising up on an elbow, “Victor, tell me about what you like.”

The blush across Victor’s face blazed, inwardly Masha smirked. He knew all about Victor’s pretend sex life. His first walk through of the apartment included the top drawer to the bedside nightstand. The lube, the world’s tiniest plug, the softest little stimulator. Child’s play, but at least it was a start.

“Do you like being touched?” He let his hand drift across the vest, feeling Victor’s ribs through the thin material. Noticing Victor’s breathing he flattened his hand on the stomach and pushed gently bringing his lips to the neck. “I asked you a question and I expect an answer, Viten’ka.”

“Yes,” Victor’s voice came out in a little huff.

Masha rubbed his hand over the flat belly, dipping it down to the crotch running his fingers over where Victor lay beneath, growing hard at the attention. The boy mewled at the touch, turning into the kiss. “Do you touch yourself here?”

Victor turned his head away, refusing a kiss. Mikhail stood, pulling Victor up with him. “Masha…”

“Shhh, sweetheart.” He spun Victor around, pressing his chest into Victor’s back and holding still with one arm as the hand traveled down his chest to stroke lightly at his length again. “I won’t go any further than you want.”

_No further than I want…but how far is that? I don’t even know if I want this…_

Masha hand was stroking Victor to full erection, “...so good for me, letting me know you want more.” His hand dove into the shorts, popping the buttons out to free Victor and begin to stroke in harsh motions.

“Masha, I didn’t say…” Victor tried to protest.

“Your body is talking. Viten’ka, you don’t listen to your body enough.” His hand was hard on Victor, coaxing him towards climax then slowing as he watched the boy in his arms writhe and fight against the building heat. “So good to push it down. I’m so proud of you.” He ran his tongue along the shell of Victor’s ear, whispering the final commands, “You will come when I tell you to. Be a good boy for me.”

Victor whimpered and leaned forward to give himself better balance, Masha’s arm released him. The hand pushed on his back, guiding him to lean onto the bed, “Where else do you touch yourself, my little boy?” The minute the finger tickled at the entrance Victor tried to stand only to find himself held by the weight of Masha’s chest. The hand released his cock and he felt the pair tear at the holes of the shorts, ripping the seam holding the backside closed. “You can fix this too,” Masha whispered playfully into Victor’s ear.

“Masha, I don’t…”

“Yes you do, I know you do.” He shoved his finger into Victor’s mouth then took it back.

Victor braced himself for what he knew was coming next, the slow pressure of the finger shook him to his toes. He rose up, trying to escape the invasion. “Ah...stop...hurts.”

Masha’s hand was back on his cock, pumping away. Victor was torn between focusing on controlling his climax and ignoring the pain of intrusion.

“Almost baby, I promise, almost.” He felt the finger go in to the first knuckle, then pull back a little, then push in further, repeating until seated. “So tight, sweetheart.”

Victor fisted the bedspread, tear pooling in his eyes. Gasping, he fought back the orgasm, “Please, Masha!”

The finger in him moved about, poking until it found something buried in Victor. He jolted upright screaming and coming all over Mikhail’s hand. Mikhail pressed a few more times, watching as Victor whimpered and begged to be released, then finally collapsing on the bed, breathless.

“You were so close, sweetheart.” He cupped Victor’s face, hands filthy. “You’ll do better next time, right?”

“Yes?” Victor asked in a shaken voice.

 

Masha had cleaned his hands, then Victor was allowed to change into his pajamas. He came out of the bathroom to hear Masha ordering dinner to the apartment.

“I got you steamed vegetables. Gotta count those calories.” Masha crossed the room to capture Victor’s lips. “What would you do without me?”

Victor smiled shakily without speaking. As the food arrived, he ate and eventually warmed under the sincere attention Masha paid him, cleaning his face, handing him the food, helping him dish it out and set some aside. _This man is trying. He’s just used to not having a wait so long_.

“I was thinking maybe this weekend we could hit a nightclub?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Persuasion Part Two - it gets worse after the nightclub.


	4. I Get What I Give Out of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An insight into the very happy, highly functional, and mutually beneficial Dom/sub relationship that Chris and Lawrie have. After helping Yuuri through his depression at losing Victor again and coming to the realization that his fears for Victor are all well-founding and unfortunately coming true he is helped by Lawrie's remarkable optimism. He then overhears some interesting stuff... grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank to you Mags and Den for reading this over. Big thanks to Den for letting me write these side stories to a work that I adore.

[First Things First](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdxiHN7q2ew)

Chris dropped his bag on the floor of their shared flat. Yuuri followed him in, dragging himself through the room and to the couch where he promptly fell, face first, into the comfort of cushions and pillows. Chris chuckled as an arm rose up from the Japanese mess, caught a blanket draped over the back of the couch and pulled it down, covering himself. Chris caught the laugh in his throat, letting it die on his lips. This wasn’t jet lagged Yuuri, this was heartbroken Yuuri.  


His mind ran back to the scene of the three friends watching Victor enter the van taking the Russian team to the airport. For some reason seeing the slender boy step up into the van reminded him of Sydney Carton, walking up the steps to the guillotine. _I’m not that far off. He was going to take flight, then something called him back against his will._

Yuuri, the boy that reached into his life, found him on the brink of self-destruction, now lay on his couch hiccupping sobs under a blanket. His friend had dearly, tenderly loved that boy. But he had acted too late, and now Victor was in danger and Yuuri was in agony, and they both lay in ruin.

“Honey, welcome…” Lawrie came out of the back rooms into the large family room, his greeting stilled by the sound of soft crying. Casting a glance at his boyfriend he asked the unspoken question.

Chris answered with a simple nod and crooked finger as he moved towards the kitchen. “Yuuri, I’m getting a drink, can I get you something?”

“No, thank you.” The miserable voice choked out.

Lawrie followed Chris into the kitchen and waited patiently as the man went through the meticulous ceremony of making a latte. The newly made sex therapist loved nothing more than watching his boyfriend make coffee...but he could never tell Chris that, never convince him that the man in front of him was sexiest when he was just laying in the sun reading, reading glasses perched on his nose, at his most alluring when he was fixing dinner, that he was his loveliest when he smiled at his cat. Those small, captured moments of Christophe thinking he was unobserved were treasures Lawrie locked away his mind. This, watching him shake a mason jar full of milk to create foam because he was too stubborn to buy a frothing wand, was becoming his favorite.

Spooning the last of the foam into the latte and sprinkling a little cinnamon on top Chris brought the mug to his plump lips and took a long sip. His eyes closed in delight as the rich espresso and thick milk hit his tongue. He hummed in pleasure.

“I love you.” Lawrie smiled, the words tumbling out, unguarded.

Chris stopped, mug at his lips. Lawrie was open with his feelings, healthy and structured to the point that he sometimes drove Chris mad. But this was the first _I love you_ they’ve shared.

“I love you, too.” Chris put the mug down, and put on a coy smile, rolling his shoulders back, presenting himself. Of course you love me, I’m a sex god.“I love you like I love an old sweater.”

_Okay...maybe I’m not…_

Lawrie smiled at the look of confusion. “Don’t get me wrong, you are the god of my idolatry, the sweetest sin I’ll ever taste.” He ran a hand up the back of the athlete before him, stopping at the neck to cup the flesh and muscle there. Pulling him in for a tantalizing kiss, licking at the lips, tasting that delicious combination of sweet latte and the rich dark taste of Chris. Pulling back and kissing the lips lightly, “but you are also a kind man, whose heart is open. One who trusts and gives freely. I love the first part, but I cannot live without the second.”

Chris’ breath hitched. He let out a single sob and wrapped his arms around Lawrie...his Lawrie. The mug abandoned on the counter behind him, he surrendered himself to kissing Lawrie, being encouraged to hold on for as long as needed. Lawrie had learned quickly that his past boyfriend used touch, and withdrawal, as punishment, and he only ever offered Chris what he needed.

Lawrie waited for Chris to pull back, smiling, he ran hands down the tanned face and took the hazel eyes into his own. “Tonight, I want to give you a beautiful scene.” He delighted at the look of ecstasy on his lover’s face. “But first, tell me about the sobbing man on the couch.”

Chris snorted a laugh... _Oh god, his laugh is hideous, I love him._

“My friend is suffering heartbreak, but it’s a little more complicated.” Chris picked up his latte and they moved to the sunny breakfast table. The kitchen was warm, but they still leaned into each other. “He loved a boy, but wasn’t able to make it clear...or really even say it. The boy found a man, much older, and abusive...and I think he wants out, but got pulled back in.”

Lawrie took it all in, listening quietly, nodding a few times in recognition of a pattern. “I don’t know this person, and I’ve never met Victor, but it sounds like a D/s relationship gone very wrong.”

Chris wrinkled his nose, “I’m not so sure. Victor didn’t really give me that...vibe?” He shrugged trying to feelings into words, “He was very into Yuuri, it was clear. I mean, I thought he was going to claw my eyes out when I first met him, he thought I was competition.” Chris smiled, remembering that day... _If only I had just pulled him aside and said something…_ “He had no problem following Yuuri’s lead, letting Yuuri order food for him, but I didn’t get that sense that the boy was interested in being a submissive.”

Lawrie remained silent, knowing that his boyfriend’s excellent brain was working hard to help his friends. “An abusive relationship, in which one uses power to dominate the other. The boy doesn’t have to be a submissive to fall into that.” Chris’ face took on a dark look and Lawrie knew he was in a memory. “Honey?”

Chris shook himself out of it, “I walked in on him while he was changing. The bruises on his back were from severe caning...it wasn’t a scene, he’s getting the shit beat out of him.”

“Were any of the bruises visible with clothing on?”

“No. There were the cane marks on his back and side, some small scars around the stomach, high on his rib cage. There were small burn marks...round burn marks…” He looked to his boyfriend for confirmation of what he already knew.

“Cigarette burns.”

Chris nodded, he didn’t want to believe it, but Lawrie was right. “Those were on his upper arm, around his armpits. And he was so thin.”

“Well, starvation is only half physical. By denying food he’s keeping this boy from being able to think or act quickly. Also it’s a complete domination, he’s controlling both the inside and outside of the body.”

“There was something else...something he said.” Chris searched his memory for the words Victor had used when Chris discovered him. “ _Let me pretend_? I think he said something like that. He was desperate, like the time he spent with all of us was some little fantasy he was living out.”

Lawrie closed his eyes, “He’s retreating into his mind. It’s a defense mechanism, like a walking drop, sort of. When a sub goes into a drop it’s a sign of trust, in this case he’s enduring something so horrific he’s leaving mental consciousness while staying physically awake. In extreme cases, a person can lose the ability to tell the difference between what’s real and what’s fantasy. They can develop a problem on the dissociative disorder spectrum.”

Chris processed this information, “That sounds really dangerous.”

“It is.” Lawrie saw his boyfriend’s grimace, “It can be. Do we have a plan to help this Victor?”

Chris smiled, took Lawrie’s hand and kissed the palm, then brought to rest against his cheek. “I love that you said we.”

 

Yuuri had calmed himself down by the time his hosts returned from the kitchen. It was no coincidence, they had waited patiently as the man worked his way through his grief. Chris moved his bags into the guest room and showed Yuuri to the bathroom, allowing the man to wash his face.

He shuffled back into the front room, finally seeing if for the first time. It was everything a beautiful city flat was in books, open, airy, bright. There was artfully exposed brick on the walls, dotted with replicas of ads for absinthe from the 1890s. The furniture was tasteful and comfortable. Pictures of family were in delicate frames on the side board under the large window revealing a picturesque view of the city. It was a wonderful combination of comfort and style, it beautifully showed the personalities of the two men who lived their. They chatted amicably with a record of Mozart playing softly in the background until Chris announced that he would treat them all to dinner and removed himself to the kitchen, leaving Yuuri and Lawrie alone.

“So you helped my love out of a bad place, I owe you.” Lawrie offered Yuuri an iced tea, sitting down opposite him on the couch.

Yuuri took a sip and looked up to meet Lawrie’s eyes. “I was just glad I was there to help him. My mother really did most of the work. She’s got a way with people.”

“You had to get a gift like that from someone.” Lawrie smiled, prompting the man to open up to him.

Yuuri grimaced and looked at his glass, the ice clinking against one another slightly. “No, I only end up hurting people. My insecurities get to me, my anxiety freezes me up. I can’t say what I want…”

Lawrie let him sit in silence for a little while, then put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s hard to vocalize what we want, what we need. There’s the fear of rejection. All of that is hard enough, but when you add an Anxiety Disorder to it, it becomes almost an insurmountable obstacle. You should focus on how well you’ve done.”

“I can’t focus on anything but him.” Yuuri looked past the living room and out into the city, aglow with light from the setting sun. “I pushed him away, I didn’t mean to, but I did. And now...it’s like I pushed him right into the path of this monster.”

“You are not responsible for the actions of others. You are not responsible for the abuse that this boy is suffering, neither is he. All you can do is make sure that you are strong enough to be there for him _when_ he comes to you.”

“If he comes to me…” Yuuri sighed and looked at Lawrie.

“When.”

Yuuri smiled at the determination in the man’s face. “You’re good.”

“It’s just my job, I got a degree and everything.” Lawrie joked and relaxed as he saw Yuuri laugh for the first time. The body in front of him relaxed a little more, settling into the couch. “I’m a hardened optimist.”

Yuuri blinked, “I thought it was hardened cynic?”

“Nah, it’s easy to give up. It’s hard to stay optimistic. To have faith in people when they so often fall down, make bad choices, let you down. So I’m a hardened optimist.”

Yuuri smiled at him, _I’m stealing that from you._

 

Dinner was delicious, Yuuri learned a lot about Chris watching him interact with his boyfriend. First, the Swiss man was an amazing cook, but refused, flat out refused to do a single dish. Second, he was completely head-over-heels in love but kept up his Marilyn Monroe act without cracking once. Third, he felt very safe with a man that adored him, and in that safety he flourished like a flower in sun.

_Can I do this for Victor? Can I be enough for him?_

Watching them at dinner he couldn’t help but envy the gentle touches...Chris wiping a bit of sauce from Lawrie’s lip...Lawrie brushing fingers across Chris’ hand as they passed dishes to each other. Seeing the hands come together, the fingers intertwined, Yuuri looked down at his, remembering how warm the slender pale fingers felt crooking around his own.

_I can try. Victor, I can try for you._

Yuuri was settled safely in his warm bed in the guest room at the opposite end of the hall as the master suite. He pulled out the book he was reading, one that he desperately wanted Victor to read, to talk over... _You’ll love this, do you read Margaret Atwood?_ He only read for a few minutes before heavy lids closed and he fell into a peaceful sleep.

 

The master suite had two bodies nowhere near sleep.

Chris’ sultry voice had Lawrie’s attention, “I believe you promised me a scene…”

Lawrie’s head rolled back falling onto Chris’ shoulder as the man came up behind him, enveloping him in his arms. “I did, didn’t I.” His breath falling in soft pants.

“I have thoughts…”

“I’ll follow your lead.” Lawrie turned, and took in Chris’ face. Sometimes when he needed a scene Chris would take on an empty, lost look. However tonight was something different. Lawrie had always admired submissives, the strength they demonstrated amazed him. It made him want...need to be a responsible dominant. “Take first position.”

Chris cupped Lawrie’s face, kissing the lips. Then he moved back, slowly removing his clothes. This part was more about efficiency, less about presenting himself. Lawrie stressed that Chris didn’t need to display his sensuality, it was apparent always. A red cushion was placed at the foot of the bed and Lawrie offered Chris a hand as he lowered himself onto the cushion, waiting until he knew his partner was comfortable.

“Color?”

“Green,” Chris smiled, holding onto the hand. _I love that you ask so often, with each step._ “Thank you,” with that statement Chris brought the hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss into the tip of the first finger, “for taking in my friend so easily. Thank you,” a gentle kiss pressed into the second tip, “for helping him open up.” He went on kissing each finger, then the knuckles, each time listing something that Lawrie gave without thinking of. “For helping him work through his pain, for supporting him when he cried, for loving me in all forms, for being the man I want, need, desire.” Then opening the palm flat before him, he lifted his arms to Lawrie’s face, seeing the desire, “thank you for tonight, sir.” He pressed a heated kiss into the mound of Venus, enjoying the moan of his Dom, then releasing the hand.

He settled his hand, folding them in his lap and lowering his gaze to the floor. He was startled to see teardrops land on the feet in front of him. Chris raised his eyes, worried.

Lawrie’s face was lit with joy. He lowered himself to gaze evenly into the hazel eyes, “You are the greatest man. You deserve everything, I want to be the one to give it to you. Thank you for choosing me, trusting me, having faith in me to be the one to give you joy and pleasure.” They kissed, deep and hot, love growing into lust quickly.

Lawrie stood, begging Chris to rise with a silent signal and turning him to the full length mirror. Chris purred with expectation, this was one of his favorites. “I want you to see how beautiful you are when you come. I want to hear you describe what you look like, what you see.”

Lawrie stood, still clothed behind Chris. He placed a hand on his chest and ran down the sternum, over the tight abs and gently brushing his fingers over the hardening cock. He heard Chris’ breath hitch with arousal.

“Don’t hold back noises, sing the praise of what I give you.” Lawrie pressed kisses into his shoulder, his fingers, coated with a little lube from the table, wrapped around the cock and stroked down in a single motion.

Chris hummed in delight and his eyes half lidded, the hand stopped immediately. Chris’ eyes opened, “Sorry, sir, you are so good I lost myself a little.”

Lawrie kissed the shoulder again, “Try again?” He waited for Chris to take a breath in, steadying himself. “Color?”

“Green.” Chris locked his eyes on his own, watching his face slowly relax, the color rise in his cheeks as Lawrie’s ministrations continued. The hand at his cock worked up and down the length as the other arm and body helped support him as he gave into the feeling growing within him.

“Words.” Lawrie whispered, kissing the shell of his ear.

Chris moaned, “My eyes are brighter, I can see how hazel they are, but they seem more green in this light. Is it the way I’m feeling?”

“Possibly.” Lawrie murmured, kissing down the neck. “Keep going.”

“My chest is broader, I’m getting more muscular. My arms are so much stronger, I think I could lift you.” He chuckled then stopped short as Lawrie changed up his motions, adding a gentle twist at the head.

“Stop avoiding it.”

Chris looked back at the mirror, “My cock is almost red, and it looks painfully engorged, but it’s not painful.” He added quickly to keep his lover moving. “It looks firm but soft at the same time.” He began panting as Lawrie quickly moved him closer to the edge, “Lawrie...I need you.”

“You have me. One more. Come on baby, you can do this.” Lawrie stopped kissing and rested his chin on Chris’ shoulder locking eyes with the man in the mirror.

Chris drew in a deep breath struggling through the passion and heat in his belly to form words and sentences, “My face, the cheeks are red, my skin is glowing, my lips look fuller. I can see little tremors around my eyes...Lawrie…” Chris’ body started shaking as he approached that cliff.

Lawrie’s arm grew stronger around his lover, he leaned Chris into his frame to support him better, “Come.”

Chris lost himself in the orgasm, his knees giving out, with only Lawrie’s strength keeping him from falling to the floor. Lawrie stroked him through the orgasm, making sure he was empty before allowing him a moment to breath. He lead the man to the bed, laying him down with a kiss to the forehead.  


“I’m so proud of you.”

Chris slowly blinked at the compliment, lost for words.

“Stay.”

Lawrie moved around the room, cleaning up quickly, and going to the master bath for a cold cloth. He ran it delicately over the body, worshipping Chris through aftercare.

“You _are_ stronger, the muscles _are_ gorgeous. I’m so proud of you being healthy and strong. I’m proud of you keeping words all through this.” Lawrie’s voice had taken on a deeper tone. He deposited the cloth in the hamper and returned to the bed. “Color?”

“Yellow.” Chris admitted breathlessly.

“Did this affect you?”

“Yes. Talking...is difficult.”

Lawrie smiled and brushed some of the curly hair away from his forehead. “We can wait for as long as you need. May I kiss you?”

Chris’ eyes did sparkle, “Yes.”

Down the hall in a not soundproofed room Yuuri woke to hear the entire scene. Torn between ingrained Japanese manners of privacy and the natural curiosity of the entire species. The biological won out. As he climaxed, he considered the two in the next room. _That sounded like they both had fun. It’s possible to be that and good. Can I give that to Victor?_

The next morning at breakfast Yuuri kept watching the two men and their interactions for any sign of dominance, or power… He saw nothing. Two men, clearly in love, clearly in tune with each other’s needs, able to predict what the other wanted without needing to be told. Two men making breakfast, laughing at each other’s peculiarities, delighting in their shared traits.

_Please let me have this with him…Even if I can’t have last night with him, let me have this._

Lawrie sat down opposite Yuuri who blushed knowingly and focused his thoughts on his oatmeal. Lawrie leaned across the table, tapping Yuuri twice on his wrist, “Did you enjoy the show?”

Chris burst into laughter at the sight of his friend spitting oatmeal across the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lawrie's love for Chris shines through in another chapter, but alas you must first hear more of Mikhail. Sorry guys.


	5. Unimaginable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakov and Lilia talk about their concerns over Victor's situation while remembering the struggles they have been through before. Based loosely on the song "Quiet Uptown" from Hamilton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Den and Mags for reading this over. Thanks to Den for letting me expand out on the alternate timeline to her work Glittering Youth.

[Unimaginable](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MdBws54ZHyY)

 

“He’s lying down, at least...sleep might not happen for another few hours.” Lilia sat down on the bed. Cross her left leg at the knee she ran the zipper down the inside of the high heeled black boots, allowing it to drop to the floor. The second followed in quick succession. She moved back on the mattress, dangling her feet over the edge and indulged in cracking her ankles and toes while her husband stood by squirming at the sound.

“Lilia, please that sound.”

“You never could handle being married to a ballerina.” She smiled up at him. His wizened face still revealed that boy from decades back who took classes with her to improve his jumps. _Madness_ , they all said. Figure skating has nothing to do with dance… _And you proved them all wrong. Button, Carroll… none of them could hold a candle to you._

“Where were you just then?” Yakov crossed from the door to their private bathroom to sit next to her.

“Remembering what a genius you were.”

He grunted, then the pain overtook him. His face crumpled, the tears fell slowly, then in tumults, “I failed him.”

She rose her arms and he entered their embrace. She pulled him in and he was held in her strength. He cried for the boy down the hall, and she remembered a night when it was reversed.

 

 

“Lilia...just this once?” Her older sister Lydia sat at her piano playing something soft as Lilia stretched in the light of the grand house. The girls had grown up in wealth, but never sheltered from the family’s business. _Ignorance is weakness_ as Papa always said.

“No. I’m busy. We have the new season starting, I want the lead in everything this year.” It was a ridiculous goal, one that no sane ballerina would aspire to. But Lilia Baronovskaya was not a sane ballerina. She was the Firebird of St. Petersburg. The delight to all who got to watch her dance. She conducted a power through her body that revealed emotion in her motions, spoke more than volumes of novels.

“It’s just a couple of people from the company and orchestra, and it’s just dinner.” Lydia closed the keyboard cover and moved her body to the windows by her sister.

Lilia admired the way her sister moved, she was lithe, floating. She would have been a beautiful Odette, with Lilia as Odielle...it would have been the greatest story told through movement, but Lydia loved to create music.

“Sister…” Lydia purred.

Lilia smirked, _I know the game you play_.

 

 

“Sister, join me.” She reached out a hand. Lilia took it, knowing her cause was lost. It was just dinner with people whom she already knew...what could possibly happen?

“This is Yakov Feltsman, he’s just took silver in nationals.” Paul grinned bringing his friend over to the table. “Yakov, you probably know most, but these are the Baronovskaya sisters, Lydia and Lilia.”

Lydia smiled broadly and accepted his hand. Lilia smirked. _Just some social climber_.

 

 

Two weeks later he was in her class, annoying her with endless questions... _what is the difference between a grand jete and a saut tu chat...how can I use shoulders to rotate...is it possible to spin in the opposite direction…_

There were only two options. Quit ballet, or take him on as a pupil.

 

 

Four weeks later Yakov is one of her finest students, and not bad company. Lilia catches little knowing smiles from her sister during rehearsals, which Yakov comes to watch. They go out to dinner at least twice a week, and finally he asks her out. And she says yes.

Six months later, they are married. Her family approved after a quick background check. His family consisted of a mother and sister, who both adored Lilia, even if they were a little intimidated by her. The ceremony was a public nightmare, and a total farce. The couple had been married in the living room of Yakov’s mother a week before the charade. Her sister and parents had attended. The rabbi performed the rights and she was a properly married woman. The dinner afterwards was a simple affair of roast beef with vegetables, warm bread, and a simple sponge cake to celebrate. It was exactly what she wanted.

However, the press wouldn’t have tolerated that. So there was the second ceremony... the Firebird of the Stage marries the King of the Ice. Yakov’s fame had risen quickly with some well timed wins and the Olympics looming on the horizon.

The gala was set in a large hotel, the guests...all two hundred...ate off translucent china and whispered conjecture that he had converted for her...never guessing she had converted for him.

 

 

Then the next year was the heartbreak.

Yakov’s career took off just as Lilia’s was forced into a standstill, much to her delight. She was pregnant, he was overjoyed. They would be a family.

Everything would be perfect. They bought a larger townhouse in the city. Decorated a nursery. Spent far too much on baby clothes. Were joyfully scolded by both grandmothers-to-be. Lydia was by Lilia’s side every step.

Then it all went wrong. Lilia woke up with a cramp. Then she noticed the blood. Then she felt the stillness in her.

The doctors confirmed what they both knew. They sat in the office in silence.

_Unable to attach properly...sometimes these things happen...there’s really no point in trying again...we’re so sorry…_

Yes. They were all sorry.

Yakov held her the night they got back in the same position she holds him in now. They sold the townhouse, donated the clothing, watched the grandmothers-to-be grow still.

 

 

“Men handle grief with work,” Lydia reached out for Lilia’s hand. He was gone all the time. Skating all the time. Silent all the time. “You should get out too. You can’t retreat away like this.”

_Watch me._

Lilia moved into the family house while Yakov was out on tour. She took fewer and fewer students. She retreated from the world, into herself and into her grief.

“Women handle grief with mourning,” Lydia reached out for Yakov’s hand. He had come home, not to stay. She was allowing her body to feel the loss of life that once was there. The promise her body had made with a blood oath then taken back. “You should stay longer. Cancel your tour commitments. You can’t keep running.”

_Watch me._

Yakov skated in the States, Canada, winning medals and money. And none of it mattered. He was running from the grief, and from himself.

 

 

Five years. Five years watching two people circle each other in a shared gravity. A perfect distance kept in check by the weight of their grief and pain. A distance that couldn’t be breached.

Ten years. Lilia took students out of quiet desperation. Yakov opened a school out of boredom. Lilia’s father died, leaving the family’s business to his sons and the home to his daughters. Lydia moved home. Yakov moved into his office. Yakov’s school received international fame, attracting students from all parts of Russia. Then one day, a wall somewhere in Germany fell down...and students from around the world wanted to study with him. Lilia found herself choreographing shows. Ballet corps from all over Russia wanted her and she traveled to them. Then a man with a birthmark changed their government and Lilia traveled to New York, Los Angeles, London.

They had exchanged grief. Lilia ran; Yakov hid.

 

 

Then a silver haired boy came to the rink. His eyes were enormous, he was terrified. His mother was poor, and didn’t look in good health. She was a seamstress for one of the shows Lilia was running and encouraged her to bring the boy by.

“You must be Victor,” she bent at the waist and extended a hand. “My name is Lilia and I’ve heard so much about you.”

Viktor clutched the bunny to his chest and hid into his mother’s legs.

“Vitya, don’t be shy. Miss Lilia and Coach Yakov are going to watch you skate.” His mother smiled down at him. Suddenly the world was less scary.

His little hands worked quickly, lacing up the boots. The bunny was propped up on a sideboard affording it the perfect view. He ran through a program taught to him in a local rink’s show. It was simple, and clearly designed for children less agile than he. But Viktor’s movements were like silk, his body was born to…

“Skate”

“Dance”

The couple turned to each other and joined hands, seeing past the pain and fear. Letting go of expectations and disappointments. Lilia had Yakov, and he had her. And suddenly the world was less scary.

 

 

“Do you remember the first time we saw him skate?” Lilia stroked his hair..what was left of his hair out of his face.

“Beautiful. You wanted him to skate, I thought he would be a better dancer.” Yakov’s voice showed promise, he would return to himself soon.

Lilia smirked, “You never knew anything old man.”

“I love you.” Yakov sat up, looking at his wife, the best wife. “I love you.”

“And I, you.” She cupped his face. “We didn’t fail him. A snake snuck into our house, and now we must remove it. He’s strong, he can come back from this.”

“But what’s happened to him...it’s unimaginable…”

“He will work through the unimaginable.”

 

 

Days become blur of dull routine. Vitya skates, he goes to skating, he comes home from skating. He slowly grows back into the boy he was when he first lived there. Retreating to his room to read after meals. Yakov would catch him at old odd habits he had thought...hoped...the boy had outgrown. In the backyard playing with is dog, laughing and talking to himself, an invisible stranger holding up the other end of the conversation. Late at night Lilia would wake hearing him moving around the house crying softly and asking questions to the air around him.

Little Yuri left presents at door in the early morning before Victor rose. Small boxes of chocolate he bought with the allowance from his sponsor funds. Little books from the Lilia’s library downstairs. A cup of tea made the way Vitya took it, far too much jam.

Yakov watched as the little blonde ghosted the steps of the taller boy. They could be brothers the way they favored each other in looks, and they certainly felt a loyalty to each other. The smaller boy even learning to tolerate that giant poodle Victor adored.

It was Lilia who broke the silence on their observations one night.

“He’s not coming back to us.”

“We have to wait. He will find his way back.” Yakov settled into the bed, the mattress groaning under him.

His wife shifted in the bed, her slight frame barely moving the sheets, “Yasha, he’s lost.”

Yakov exhaled, she was right. She was always right. The little boy at the end of the hall wasn’t a little boy, but he was living that life.

At the rink he watched the body skate the program, lifeless a shell of what he had built. Technically it was brilliant, he would win with this program, but it would be empty.

“Victor,” he waved the boy over watching the little form approach. “What does this program represent to you?”

Victor blinked, never had this been asked. It was always perfect this jump, watch that edge. It was never what are you trying to say.

“Coach, I don’t…”

“I know you don’t want to talk about...what you went through. But you’ve never held back from the ice.” He watched the boy twizzled backwards, glazing down at his boots. “Vitya, Lilia and I have noticed you seem to be pulling back. We wanted to give you space, let you find your way to us, but you aren’t. It’s like when you first arrived, you would hide by yourself and…”

“Yakov…”

“I’m not saying you need to spend more time with us, but even Yuri is worried. We want you to come back from this. If not at home, at least here.”

Victor nodded. “Give me a few laps and then start the music again.”

Yakov heard the firm determination in his voice. Victor kicked off, running a few laps quickly, changing weight from one foot to another, then slowed to his starting pose. The music cued and began. Viktor launched into the program, there was a frantic energy to the dance, it had a childish play to it, something of eternal youth and impish delight flashed on his face. Gone were the provocative undertones, replaced by the teasing flicks motion meant to charm, not entice.

Victor finished in his final pose, earning a grunt and nod from the coach who moved on to work with Georgi, missing the way the thinned shoulders stooped as he stepped from the ice.

 

 

“I think he has found his path.” Yakov sat down next to Lilia on the bed, patting her hand. “You were right to be concerned, but he’s pulling himself from this.”

She smiled, “How?”

“Today, he reinvented his free skate. It’s younger, but more playful. It reminds me of his first year in juniors…” the older coach smiled and rose, lost in his happy memory and missing the dark look that crossed his wife’s face.

“He’s hiding in childhood.” She spoke to herself. “He’s just swimming down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to say what's up next...


	6. Persuasion Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who were cringing about what I'd do next.... yeah. Mikhail discovers a very quick way to keep Victor by his side.
> 
> NO DIRECT GRAPHIC VIOLENCE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Den and Mags for last minute edit tonight.

Mikhail knew Victor had been avoiding him since the nightclub.  He had been perfect, sweet, compliant, flexible.  The little form bent, folded, yielded in the exact ways he had been hoping.  But now the boy was trying to pull back from him.

 

It was right, of course, that the little boy be scared of sex.  He was the submissive.  It was his job to remain pure, sweet, and fresh until Mikhail felt like using him.  But now Mikhail felt his need to use the little body and the boy was coming up with excuses.

 

He pulled out his phone sending a quick text.

 

**Masha / I’d like to see you tonight.**

 

He sat back in the creaking old chair waiting for the text to come in.  A knock took his attention from the phone and he looked up to see one of the newer goons standing in the doorway.

 

“Capo?”  The man could be ten years older than Mikhail, but his hat was in his hand and his eyes darted to the floor after being sure he heard him.

 

“Don’t use old terms.”   _ Beside, I’m not going to be a lowly accountant forever. _  “What do you need?”

 

“The Bulls are in from the run, the totals are coming in short however.”  The man shifted out of the doorway as Mikhail launched himself out of the seat and into the wide space of the warehouse.

 

“What do you mean short?”  He walked passed the nameless man and toward the crowd of counters and bulls.

 

It was Wednesday, pull in for the dealers happens on Wednesday.  If a Bull were missing he’d better be fucking dead.  Mikhail could hide money from stolen goods, even human trafficking, but heroine...heroine was a finite product in Russia.  It can’t go missing.  That’s not allowed, and certainly NOT on a FUCKING WEDNESDAY.

 

He felt the veins in his neck starting to throb.

 

“Boss, one of the Bulls failed to report in.”  Anton stepped forward, he had worked with Mikhail for more than three years, knew his tempers and...oddities.  He had been assigned by the family to watch over the Pahkan’s nephew and talented accountant.

 

“Which one?”  Mikhail kept his eyes locked on Anton’s.  He felt himself calming under the gaze of the other man.  He knew he could use Anton, depend on him in times of need.  But he hated to think that Anton knew this as well.

 

“Leonid, the new one…”

 

“The one I told you not to hire.”  Mikhail interrupted quickly.  Flicking his eyes to the men who shifted around behind Anton.

 

“Boss, we were running thin on Bulls and he had backing from the Moscow group.”

 

Mikhail exhaled.   _ This is manageable.  A Bull can only run to so many different spots, can only sell in so many spots before he’s found. _

 

“Okay, tell the people we know in law enforcement.  Put an All Points on him, I want eyes looking for him and that ridiculous car he drove.  And call into the Moscow capo, if this guy jumps a border with our product they will want to know.  We’ve had no problem with them, and they’ve been having trouble with Canadian shipments; they’ll not want agitation in country.”

 

Anton nodded, moving to the desk and giving directions in hushed whispers.  The men would occasionally look back to him with worried glances.  Mikhail smiled knowing they feared him.   _ Good. Fear is respect. _

 

_ Fear is respect… _

 

He thought about his other little upset.  Victor, the silly child that he was, didn’t truly understand fear.  Not yet.

 

_ Perhaps a little field trip is necessary. _

 

He drummed his fingers against his jeans as he stalked back to the office.  Once inside he shut the door.  Picking the phone off the desk he noticed he had missed a text.

 

**Victor / I’m a little wiped out from skating**

 

A pathetic lie.  Mikhail smirked thinking of the lesson he would teach the boy.  His very first lesson in fear and respect.

  
  
  


“Okay, this will be it.  I’ve invited him over, I’ll explain that I just don’t want to see him any longer and that will be that.”  Victor smiled at Makka.  The poodle sat on the bed, head perched on her paws, but she didn’t look very convinced.  “No, you’re wrong.  I  _ am _ going to do this.”

 

_ And then maybe I’ll call… _

 

Three sharp wraps on the door had Victor jump out of his skin.   _ God, does he have to do that? _  “Coming.”

 

Mikhail smiled as the door opened to reveal Victor, the porcelain skin, the pink lips, the perfect little frame...perhaps still a bit too puffy.  Nothing that couldn’t be corrected, with the right persuasion.  He strode in, and snapped his head to the bed, eyeing the dog spreading dirt and germs all over the sheets.

 

_ And those fucking bunnies… _

 

“Masha, listen, I think we should talk…”

 

Mikhail brought a finger to the lips.  “Dinner first.  Conversations shouldn’t be on an empty stomach.”

 

“Well, it’s just…”

 

“Viten’ka please, I’ve been at work all day and didn’t stop for lunch.”  He caught the blue eyes, “You’ll not deny me this?”  He put his hand on his stomach and pouted, watching as the boy work wrestle with his decision.

 

Victor forced a smile onto his face.  “Okay, but just dinner.  I have to be back here by eight.”

 

“Early curfew?”

 

“No, just...I’ve been too distracted from skating lately, and it’s an Olympic year so I need to make sure my focus is on what’s appropriate.”  The boy used his tone to make the inflection clear.

 

_ Oh, tonight will be more fun than I thought.  Breaking this little pony will be a real treat. _

 

He affected a sad smile, putting Victor at ease with the unspoken communication that he understood this was a brush off.

 

“Well, then, a dinner at least?”  He held out his hand.

 

Victor smiled back, the false hope that Mikhail would walk away from this washing over him.  Mikhail loved that look on the boy.   _ I’ll have to remember this, I want to build up and destroy your hope as often as I can. _

  
  
  


Dinner was a simple affair.  He hadn’t needed to use his connection to get a spot at the restaurant as the bartender was supplied by one of their Bulls, he got in right away.  They were seated, supplied with food and drink and soon on their way.

 

Victor had tried to bring up the subject often, but Mikhail would fain interest in skating, or fashion, or a book he had googled on the ride over to divert him.  Soon he was calling for the check and as he slid his card into the leather pouch Mikhail pretended his phone went off in his pocket.

 

“I’m sorry, just a moment…”  He looked at the blank screen, angling it so Victor couldn’t see.  “Oh damn.”

 

Victor frowned, “What is it?”

 

“There’s a problem at work.  Remember how I said I worked through lunch?  Well, there was an accounting error, major problem...you can’t be interested in this...boring adult stuff.”  He rolled his eyes at Victor who bristled, exactly as planned.

 

“No. You can talk about it.  What happened?”  Victor sat forward.

 

“Well, I work for a company that does a lot of international import and export of goods.  It seems a shipment came in light...that means something was missing.”  He raised his voice, speaking slower on the last lines and the insult landed perfectly.

 

Victor smirked, “Masha I understand what that means.  What I don’t see is why you have to worry about it?  I mean should that be the responsibility of the people working for intake?  Or customs?”

 

_ Customs… oh god you’re stupid. _  “Well, it’s a little more complicated, but you’re not far off.  I’m head of all accounts for this particular branch.”

 

The waiter returned and smiled as Masha took his card back.  Victor noticed again that no tip was left and smirked at the now familiar cheapness.   _ Nothing I’ll have to worry about again. _

 

They walked to the car, Mikhail opening the door and buckling Victor into his seat.  As soon as Masha was in the car though he brought up the dock again.

 

“I’ll just have to take a run over there.  You don’t mind.”  He gunned the car into traffic, cutting off a moving van.

 

Victor looked back at the cars moving in the wake of Mikhail, “I told you I wanted to be home by eight.  You should have told me in the restaurant, I could have taken the bus…”

 

“Huh, that’s a safe option.  How did we meet again?”

 

Victor huffed, “I could have called for a ride.”

 

“And inconvenience your friends?  You really are a prima donna, aren’t you.  It’s Friday night, they are out having fun, you think they just sit around hoping you’ll call looking for handouts?”

 

Victor’s mouth opened a little, then closed and he sat back into the seat.  “I guess I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

 

Mikhail laughed cruelly, “You tend not to think about things from others’ vantage points.”  He saw the hurt in the face.   _ Gotcha. _  “But that all comes with age, you’ll get there.”

 

Victor flicked his eyes over, “Thank you.”

  
  
  


The docks were scarier at night… everything in Russia is scarier at night, but the docks are a hell onto themselves.  Homeless people looking for warehouses to sleep in congregate there, prostitutes too far gone to get themselves inside looked for strays to hump against an unwilling wall for a fix.  Victor shuddered as Mikhail’s car pulled up in front of a warehouse, the only one lit.

 

Mikhail exited and came around the car, opening the door for Victor, who remained seated.  “I think it’s better you come in with me,” he waved his arm around the lot, “don’t you agree?”

 

“You work...here?”  Victor asked, stepping out and sticking close to Mikhail’s side.

 

Mikhail chuckled softly,  _ starting to get it. _

 

Inside he felt Victor go still at the sight.  There was a small group of young people shivering against the cold.  Humans for the sex trade came in during the night.  He smiled as Victor’s breath stopped.

 

“What...what is this?”  Victor’s eyes were wide with terror.

 

Mikhail smiled down, “This?”  He indicated to the people.  “That’s not the shipment that was light, don’t worry.” He smiled a crocodile smile, full of teeth.  “It’s this one over here, but we’re working on correcting it.”

 

Victor remained still, his eyes dropped from Mikhail’s face to one of the girls shivering in the corner.  She saw his face, the sorrow in his eyes and she called out to him.

 

“Please!  Please, call the police!”  She stepped forward, leaving the group.

 

Mikhail pulled Victor to the office with him, calling over his shoulder, “Anton, I’ll expect you to wrangle them better.”

 

As Victor was dragged into the office he saw the one called Anton go over to the girl, grab her by the hair and punch her in stomach.  She doubled over and pain, falling to the floor gasping for breath.

 

In the office Mikhail sat in his chair busying himself with paperwork that didn’t need to be done.  The only thing he needed to accomplish tonight was finished.  Victor understood perfectly well who and what he was now.

 

“Masha?” Victor trembled on the other side of the desk.  “What’s...what’s going on?”

 

Mikhail smiled up patiently.  Crossing around the desk he took Victor into his arms, “Vitya, my little boy.  This is where I work.  These are the people I work for.  Those people out there, the naked, cold people...I’m going to sell them to rich men in Sweden.  That little girl that called out to you.  I’ll sell her to a man that will undoubtedly rape her into the next day, and leave her for dead at the bottom of a river once he’s done.”

 

Victor couldn’t break eye contact with Mikhail, the cool ease in which he discussed the torture of those people, that girl, it was all too much.

 

“Now, did you really have to be home by eight?”  He ran a hand down Victor’s hair.  Smiling at the slight shake of the head, he pushed his fingers up into the locks and enjoyed the hushed hiss as he tugged hard.  “Maybe you just need to be in bed by eight.  We can arrange that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail's not only a terrible boyfriend, he also can't buy appropriate gifts. He's just freaking gross.


	7. Persuasion Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Mikhail. His boyfriend leaves him and now he's just trying to get him back with a few nice presents. You readers are just so mean!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Den for the last minute read over of this and the edits!

[ Once Upon a Dream ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8waJ7W3QcJc)

 

Mikhail folded in the butterfly with flare, allowing the back handle to hit the top of his knuckles before the weapon finally closed and slid into his pocket.  The carved remains of a man before him, still tied needlessly to the chair.  To the side, and covered in a mixture of her and his blood sat the girl that had been on a date with him.

 

“Hell of a night, huh?”  Mikhail wiped his hands on his jeans.  Later, he would clean himself properly and entirely, but right now he enjoyed the feeling of the warm fluid crawling along his skin, drying and cracking against him.  It was a thrill to cut.  Within him, something twitched,  _ Vitya, I need you tonight. _

 

The girls sobbed through her gag, eyes pleading.

 

_ My little boy is being naughty right now, but I can have some fun here. _  He softened his expression and raised his hands to her, showing they were empty.

 

“I’m going to remove your gag.  You can scream if it will make you feel better, but there is no one to hear...well, no one who will hear and help.”  He waited until he saw her breathing steady, then her head slowly bobbed in a nod.

 

She didn’t scream,  _ disappointing, this won’t be as fun. _

 

“First date with a new guy?”  Mikhail indicated to the man who dancing a thin line between life and death.  In a few moments he would submit to death, at the moment he was pleasing Mikhail with that vain struggle.

 

“Tinder.”  She croaked out.

 

The two goons he had brought with him laughed from the table they sat at after the show was over.  Mikhail shot them a look, shutting them up.

 

“Sucks.”  He knelt in front of her and noticed how she pulled back as much as the restraints let her.  Flicking an eye up, “I’m going to untie your ankles, it looks like they went a little crazy when they tied you up.” He slowly moved to her ankle, she jerked.  He met her eyes and pulled his hands up, waiting for her to still.

 

_ This is my favorite part.  Building back that confidence.  This is the challenge for my reward later. _

 

He moved his hands slowly, taking the binds off and even caressing her ankle, prompting the blood to flow easily.

 

He sat back on his heels and looked up at her face.  “Your boyfriend owed us quite a bit of money.  The drugs in the trunk of his car, the car he was driving  _ you _ around in, those belonged to us.  Surely, you understand?”

 

She chewed her lip, and a saucy little smirk rolled up a corner of her mouth, “Ex boyfriend, and don’t call me Shirley.”

 

_ And there is it. _

 

Four hours later he was washing the blood out of his hair in the bathroom sink.  He was covered, jeans sopping wet in spots where she had bled out directly on him when he accidentally nicked an artery.  She was just as pleasing towards the end as he had hoped.  She had fallen for his friendly manner, making fun of the asshat she was dating.  He even thought she might have fancied him at one point...but,  _ ugh, women. _  She had screamed herself hoarse before he had even really gotten to work on her.  By the time he was done she was barely recognizable as a human, let alone as the pretty woman that she was.  He had made sure to leave fingerprints and her teeth alone, her family should know what happened to her.   _ I’m only sad I won’t be there to hear those screams. _

 

Anton stood to his side, “Are you done, Capo?”

 

Mikhail’s head snapped at the voice of his familiar, “When you did you get here?” Cold water pooled in his dirtied shirt, running down from his scalp leaving trails of pale red down his neck and framing his face.

 

Anton shrugged, “Just thought I would check up on you.”  He indicated to the mess that was a human only an hour ago.  “Had some fun I see?”

 

Mikhail grabbed at the towel the man offered.  “Dump her in the river, leave him in the parking lot of the club.  I want everyone to know what happens to thieves.”

 

Anton pursed his lips and nodded, “And his car?”  He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the warehouse, in which stood that ridiculously flashy car.

 

Mikhail crossed to the door.  Approaching the car he noticed the nice interior, the pretty color.  “I’ll give it to my Viten’ka.  That should clear up this little temper he’s been throwing.”

 

Anton whistled low.  “Boss, you can’t do that.”

 

“And why the fuck not?”

 

Anton held up his hands, he knew he had to work this guy.  Appealing to the logic of letting his boyfriend drive around in the car of a man they just killed was a waste of time.  Mikhail would only get turned on by the idea of his little boy getting roughed up by cops after being pulled over in a dead man’s car.  “Think about it, you give him something this big now...what will you have to tolerate for the next fit he throws?”  He stood back and watched the face before him slowly contort into a more relaxed set.

 

Mikhail nodded slowly, “Good thinking.  You can’t spoil them, you know?”   
  


“That’s why I just avoid this altogether.”

 

Mikhail grunted, Anton famously remained unattached.  If he wanted a woman, he would go to one of the houses, use the woman and be done.  Mikhail met him there, and the two struck up a friendship...sort of.

 

“So what do you suggest?”

 

Anton shrugged, Flowers are always nice.”

  
  
  


 

Mikhail found the biggest, cheapest bouquet in the store.  They were exactly like his little Viten’ka, pretty, flashy. He would flaunt the little boy, and could see his pretty boy flaunting the flowers all over the rink. Bragging about how lucky he was to have such a thoughtful boyfriend.

 

The four roses were enough and filled out with dozens of carnations, close enough matching in color.  Then the little white flowers, the baby’s breath, sprays of it crowded out, surrounding the flowers on all sides.  It was wrapped in purple cellophane.  He had the flowers and the card, but now needed a way to get them into the rink.

  
  
  


 

“Delivery of flowers for Viktor N.”

 

Mila watched as the rink clerk eyed the man suspiciously.  He seemed normal to the teen girl, just another delivery man, dark jacket, sunglasses, hat pulled down low.  The huge bouquet caught her attention.  It was large and flashy, just like she had wanted from a boyfriend.

 

_ Viktor’s so lucky… _

 

She turned and, giggling, ran to the rink where she found the man taking his skates off.  She leaned down to his ear and whispered, “You got flowers.”   _ He doesn’t look happy. _

 

The young man walked over to the flowers, wrinkled his nose in displeasure.  He read the card, then violently threw the flowers into the trash.  Some of the heads of the carnations flew off, landing on the floor.  The card was torn to pieces and followed it quickly.

  
  
  


Mikhail wasn’t deterred from the little fit the boy threw.  He was pleased that he knew he could get into the rink without being noticed and that clerk didn’t seem too interested in him when he delivered the flowers.

 

He knew the next gift would be what truly won over the little boy.  Viktor’s apartment had only been packed up a little and the books were still on the shelves.  He looked in the top drawer by the bed and noticed that Viktor’s little “training toys” had been taken with him.

 

_ He’ll want something to think about while he uses those and misses me… _

 

Mikhail hadn’t been much of a reader in his life.  However, this Anne Rice person seemed interesting. A quick survey of wikipedia helped him to pick the books he believed Viktor would be interested in.

 

_ And these will help him understand his role in our relationship.  A little submissive learns that fighting against the role they were born to play is what causes them the most pain.  My little Viten’ka will understand when he accepts that he’s my little boy. _

 

The books were about a sleeping beauty, a ballet that he would take Viktor to when he felt like acting like a good boy.  He ordered them through Amazon, finding a used book seller offering cheap copies.  And sent them.

 

_ This he will appreciate.  I’m giving him something he wants, books.  I’m giving him something he can learn from. _

 

The thought of those delicious scenes explained on wikipedia for him, and the fanart he found online excited him.  He pushed his chair back from his desk, he had spent more time at the docks since his little boy started throwing his little fit.  He was able to control the itch for a few days, but those days turned into weeks and still his perfect angel was ignoring the call.  He knew  _ KNEW _ that Vikten’ka must be suffering as he.  Missing the exquisite torture his lithe little body could take.  The way the ropes looked against his pale, perfect skin.  The way his back burned in red stripes when he caned him.

 

Viktor was so good at this game. Leaving things out, pretending to be sorry…Mikhail licked his lips.  Viktor did all those little errors on purpose.  They were desperate pleas for correction, for play.  And he loved to indulge his little boy.

 

A shuffle outside of the door caught his attention, a few of the men brought in some of the boys from the whorehouse.  There was one, younger than the others, reticent looking...just like Viktor could pretend.  Those eyes were almost as blue, the hair almost as light, the skin, almost as fair…

 

Would the voice sing out as well under the lash?

 

Two hours later Mikhail was unsatisfied and the boy was dead.  Mikhail went back to the computer, he added an additional copy of the books for himself as well. Perhaps he could read them and together they could recreate the more delicious scenes.

  
  
  


 

The cleaning woman stood in front of him, hands folded in front of her.  She was clearly terrified.   _ Good. _  Her eyes were red rimmed and puffy, her bottom lip cut and starting to swell, the bruise on her cheek purple.

 

“Once again, from the top, what happened?”  Mikhail’s voice was a false patient, revealing how very real the danger was at this moment.

 

She shook in her shoes.  Two months ago, Anton came to the brothel where she was kept and asked her if she was happy.

 

“Happy?  I moved here to work as a maid in a hotel...now I’m a whore.”  She laid back on the bed, waiting for him to take his turn.

 

“Do you want to be a cleaning lady?”  Anton raked his eyes over her.

 

She inhaled,  _ what horrible kink is this?  All the girls he visits swears he’s the worst. _  She closed her eyes, “Just do what you will.”

 

Anton sat on the edge of the bed, “I need someone inside an ice rink.  Could you clean bathrooms and offices?”

 

Her body froze, if this was a joke it would be the one that killed her.  “Y-yes.”

 

“And do you think you could keep your eyes on the people there? Tell me what they were doing, who they were seeing?  Memorize their schedules?”

 

“Yes!”  She sat up.  Hope blossomed in her chest.  A job, a real job.  A respectable job.  She could scrub toilets, clean out the trash. Smile nicely at people who walked past her.  Wear clothing.  Be a decent woman again.

 

Anton raised his hand to her and pointed at the door, telling her to be silent.  She nodded quickly.  “Good. Tomorrow I’ll take you out to buy you proper clothing, then I’ll take you to your new job.  Once a week you will meet me for coffee, you will tell me what you saw.  Sometimes I will need you to look into files, find out more. You can do this?”

 

_ Spy… you want me to spy on people. _  Something started feeling bad in her chest, a warning about the harm you pass on others returned threefold...something her mother had often said.  Anton shifted on the bed and “Yes” flew out of her mouth before he had a chance to move.

 

His smile wasn’t that of a viper, but it wasn’t that of an honest man either.  “Good,” he praised as he rose, threw the money on the bed next to her, and sat down on the chair in the opposite end of the room.  “Now when the girls ask about me, you will tell them it hurt and I was very cruel to you.  You’ll have no more customers today because I left you bleeding.”

 

Her mouth opened in disbelief.

 

He frowned in annoyance and rose, reaching for his belt.  “Perhaps you need proof…”

 

“No.  I will say what you ask.”  She shifted up the bed, moving away from him.

 

“Good.”  He checked his watch.  He would get a half hour with her.  “Tell me about yourself…”

  
  
  


 

Now she stood in front of him again, he was just as horrifying as the first time she saw him.  “The boy, Viktor…”

 

“DON’T...say his name.”  Mikhail screamed, then calmed himself, waving his hand for her to continue.

 

“The boy gave the books away.  He didn’t seem pleased by them, and a friend of his…”

 

“What friend?!”

 

“The odd one, the one with the strange hair.  His name is Georgi.  He came by and I think recognized them, but then didn’t like them either so he took them and threw them away for Vi...the boy.”

 

Mikhail released a breath.  He crossed around the desk, approaching the woman as she shook further.  He passed her, then tapped her on the shoulder, smiling as she jumped at his touch.  “Go.”

 

She clapped eyes on Anton, who flicked his eyes to the door.  Without a second thought she nodded and scurried from the room.

 

“It looks like my little dog needs a collar.”

  
  
  


 

“How can I help you?”  The girl at the counter purred as Mikhail walked in.

 

He eyed her,  _ ugh...women. _  “I’m looking for something for my lover.”

 

She melted at his deep voice.  “Well, you are in the right place.”  She waved her arms around the room dramatically.  The small boutique held some of the nicer knock-off pieces of lingerie.  There were corset sets, bras, and then bodysuits.  Everything in rayon and mesh.  Nothing in the high end fabrics of a decent store, nothing in the good stitching of a halfway decent store.  This was a knock off store.  Bored housewives cheating on their husbands with their students teachers or coaches bought the sad lingerie they put their tired, worn out bodies in.  Even the girl working there was tired, glossed-over, but dried out.  She looked good from a distance, but up close, the hair was split and dried, the skin was muddy from drink and bad diet, the eyes were yellowing along with the teeth.

 

“What are you thinking of?”  She crossed her arms, pushing up her bosoms...fake, and lopsided.

 

“I need to send a message.  Something that says, ‘you’re mine’.”

 

She winked, and crooked a finger walking to the back of the store.  She stopped in front of a black lace bodysuit.  It was cut high on the thigh, ran tight across the crotch and choked the throat.  He saw Viktor’s pale beautiful skin glowing through this as the little boy whimpered on his bed.

 

“Perfect.  I’ll take it...do you deliver?”

  
  
  


 

She watched from the corner as the boy opened the box.  He looked as if he was going to wretch and she almost came out of the corner with a bucket for him, but he steadied himself. He picked the package up, threw it away and walked into the locker room.  She followed at a distance and waited for what she knew she would hear eventually.  The boy started to cry.

 

_ I should go in...comfort him… _

 

But she froze.   _ If I go in, will I get in trouble? _

 

“Can you move, puh-leaze!”  She felt the bump on her shoulder before she heard the words, and fell to the ground. Looking up she saw the nasty girl Anya.   _ That weird boy is too good for you. _

 

She pulled herself up after the nasty girl left.  The boy in the room was crying softly inside.  Her heart went out to him... _ be careful with people, the hurt you send out comes back threefold... _ her mother’s voice rang inside her head.

 

Her hand was on the door to push in when a dread caught her.   _ I might not be the only one.  What if they have many spies...what if one sees me? _  She pulled back from the door.  The crying kept going.  She turned and took the trash out back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Viktor can't see that Mikhail loves him, well, he's just going to have to make him FEEL it.


	8. Persuasion Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Den for letting me do this as a side fic for Glittering Youth! I love that fic so hard!!! Also thank you to Den for last minute edit of this. If there are mistakes blame me! I'm rushing this up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last of the Persuasion Chapters - In which we learn about the fourth and final gift that Viktor never saw. Mikhail remembers the "good" times with Viktor and a present he bought for himself a while back.

[ Little Dolls Need Little Strings ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=En1dfFxfGSQ)

 

The little bunny had run.  There was no helping it.  He had run home to his childhood, hiding within the walls of someone else’s life.  Mikhail felt the rage of frustration and impotence as it became clearer that the little bunny would not come back on his own.

 

_ Fine.  If it’s a leash you want… _

 

His breath caught.  Mikhail spun around, just in the corner of his eye he caught it.  The darkness that chased him as a child.  As his eyes moved to catch up to the retreating shadow it slunk into a corner of the apartment, folding itself into darkness all around the room.  Soon he couldn’t distinguish it from the rest of the space.  But he felt the fingers on his still.

 

_ Long, cold fingers reaching out at me… _

 

He went to the fridge, pulling out a beer.  Drinking in long, hard gulps he pushed the cold from his body with the rush of alcohol, and crossed into his bedroom.  The ghosts of Viktor’s cries rushed to his ears.  Memories from that first night he had brought the boy to tears came back to him.

 

He had tied the boy down, it was easy to talk him into it.  The boy had been reticent after the nightclub, pretending he didn’t like what they had done.  He was willing to forgive that.  A little boy like Viktor shouldn’t like sex, it was not for him to get pleasure, only to give.  To use his body to please, and to surrender his body to the will of another.  Masha licked his lips thinking of the way the boys skin glowed

 

Viten’ka stretched out, battling against the restraints.  At first talking, using reason.  It was delicious.  He would blush, bat his eyes ‘Masha, let me up.  Please.’  Masha sat down on the bed, feeling the dip in the mattress, the crisp, cold sheets, missing how warm they would become with the heat from Viktor’s little body.

 

Then the boy had become annoyed, the little voice losing the polite tone. ‘Masha, these hurt, let me up. Do it now, or I’m leaving.’

 

Thoughts fluttered to the way Viktor’s voice would quiver as the reality of the situation sunk in.  There would be no demands after that, just pleas for mercy.   _ Viktor your little body was born to be mine, we are the same, your flesh is my flesh, your blood, mine.  The screams you make, the cries that spring from those lips, they are monuments to what I am building in you.  My perfect little angel. _

 

The boy would switch tactics, appealing to Mikhail’s nature, as if he had one.  Then whimpering, begging, sobbing through pain and frustration.  Mikhail would feel the body around his quake, scream for release, he would pull back, or grab firmly choking off oxygen in Viktor’s member, denying orgasm.  Some nights he merely stuffed him full, tied him up, and left him there.  Playing with the speed of the vibrator, toying with him, checking to make sure that he was bound too tightly to allow his body release.  Those nights were the finest.  But there were other nights, Viktor would come on the sheets, he would grab a fist full of silver hair, smash the face into the mess and demand he clean it with his tongue.  Then he had to stripe the boy, the carefully placed lashes glowed against the pearlescent skin.  And he would take care to rub the salve his grandmother taught him to make in, never leaving a scar, never allowing infection in.

 

Back in the present Masha allowed the memory to stir him, getting aroused at the way the little blue eyes widened in terror as he opened the closet door.  Masha rose, going to the closet, opening it to reveal his toys, his teaching tools.  The cane hung next to his lash, the opposite door held the ropes, and his flogger.  He had yet to use that on his boy...but that would be corrected soon.

 

The dark from the back of the closet crept across the floor, growing as it approached his feet. A dark myst of a shadow held back, waiting to see if he would move away from its presence, then surged forward.  The myst surrounded his feets, crept up and over his ankles, skirting up the pant legs.

 

Mikhail shifted from one foot to another, but not enough to shake off the shadow.  He felt his body turn cold, but in a relaxed and comfortable way.  It was how he felt when his little angel would whimper in agony.  The cold crawled up his legs, grabbing at his growing member.  That was enough, Mikhail’s eyes fluttered shut, then opened, settling on the box he had bought years ago...one that he was worried he would never use.

 

The silver plating on the deep red mahogany box shone brightly against the light of…Mikhail looked around, somewhere there was a fold in his curtains, letting in the sun.  A wisp of dark shadow reached out in a thin tendrel, caressing his cheek, and pulling his focus away from the tall window shrouded by the heavy material curtain that hung there.  His eyes followed the shadow, no longer a shade but a moving part of the larger dark mist that was slowly arching out from the back, drawing closer to him while simultaneously drawing him in.

 

He turned back to the heavy wooden box in his hands, opening it the four perfect blades sat against the blood red of the velvet cushion holding them in place.  The ivory bone handle graced the top spot.  It was a gorgeous set, something that he splurged on.  He had always been frugal, never seeing the point in buying something of quality when nothing was permanent, nothing lasted in this world.  But this...was different.

  
  
  


 

He had been handing business in old district of St. Petersburg, the Jewish quarter.  There were still families there who had lived in the same buildings back hundreds of years, having survived the pogroms somehow.  He never gave them his ire, they were people.  They had needs he could sell to, or services he could buy.  Others in the Bratva would abuse the people they found there, but never him.  There was something...powerful in this section.  Something very old that kept him...out, even when he was there.

 

They had concluded business, the money owed returned, the man owing dead, when he spotted the blades in a silversmith’s shop.  He let Anton go ahead, to report in without him, and entered the shop.  They weren’t in the front window, that was a set of old books and a silver tea service.  They weren’t on the front table, that held cheap glassware.  In fact Mikhail didn’t see the box until he was standing directly in front of it.  Something from the shop reached out, dark and icy, pulling him in and guiding him to it.

 

An old man, a rabbi perhaps, stood in the back with two other men, both old, and eyed him severely as he entered.  He heard words from their ancient language go back and forth in hushed whispers, as if the words were crawling along the ground to hide from him.  Their voices lowering as he walked directly in the direction he was pulled.  Then a man approached just as Mikhail was about to touch the box.

 

“You don’t want those, a young man like you.  Use an electric razor or you’ll cut yourself.”  The man had a hand on Mikhail’s shoulder and was guiding him to the door.

 

“I’ll take this.”  Mikhail’s eyes watched as the man cast a glance to the men in the back.  One of them disappeared into the back of the building muttering something.

 

“It will be impossible to keep them sharp.”  He watched as Mikhail picked up the box, studying the blades intently.  “This is for old men like me, and look” he indicated to his long beard, “not even I use them.”

 

Mikhail could hear the forced familiarity in the man’s voice, the coaxing manner in which he was desperate to get the box out of Mikhail’s hands and Mikhail out of his shop.  That’s when Mikhail looked around, antiques, curiosities, junk.  There were odd bits and ends of everything, but this box was pristine, not even the dust dare settle upon it.

 

“You will sell me what is mine.”  Mikhail didn’t know where the words or thought came from, he only knew that he wasn’t leaving without the object in his hands.

 

The man before him closed his eyes sighing.  “This way.”  Leading him to the counter the man turned to look at Mikhail, “some things are meant to stay lost.”

 

Mikhail placed the box on the table gently, but the thud that came from the wood hitting the counter surprised even him.  He looked up at the old man who hadn’t been alarmed in the least.

 

“You are buying something very old.  This isn’t Grandma’s cast iron skillet, or Mama’s wedding quilt.  You should not use this.”  He took the box, wrapping it in brown paper and tying it up with twine.  He poured red wax over the knot, sealing it with a stamp.  He looked down, “ לִשְׁמוֹר, keep.  I’m hoping you will not remove the seal.”

 

Mikhail took out his wallet, giving over the money readily. Taking the box he left.  The door opened too easily and something on the side of the door hinge fell to the floor.  Looking down he saw a little metal replica of a book.

 

The man who had done up the package came over, picking up the object and cradling it in his hands.  He turned his eyes to Mikhail, “Go.”

 

Mikhail felt his body turn cold at the command, however he was oddly compelled to obey.  Turning from the business he walked through the old section, for the first time noticing the people who lived there.  Mothers pulled children away from him, men used their hats to shield their eyes from him.   _ Was this always like this?  Yes. _

  
  
  


 

Sitting on the bed again, looking at the blades he ran a hand over them.   _ I should sharpen them… _ He flinched, pulling back his finger he saw the perfect and precise cut.  The blades weren’t dull at all, they were sharp enough to cut silk fall through the air.

 

Such fine little blades would be perfect. He would make a series of slices up along the back of his angel, carving a set of intricate wings to dance as the boy screamed all night.  Mikhail closed his eyes and breathed in the rich scent of his blood.   _ Our blood. _

 

The fourth gift was ready to be sent.  Mikhail had taken care to choose perfectly.  The red would stretch against the pale skin, the purple of the swelling bruises would show gorgeously.  The ropes were fine, thin and light, but sturdy.  He would be able to bind his little boy, suspend him, restrain him, teach him.  The only thing missing was the collar.  He set it down on the red ropes, spun and swaddled like a nest of vipers.  The collar was thick, heavy, and leather.  It would be loose, and with the flick of a latch, too tight, keeping Viten’ka unable to fully breath, but with enough air to keep him from passing out.

 

Nothing hurt Mikhail more than when Viktor would turn from him.  The little mind running away, deep within the body, to a place that even Mikhail’s talent for pain couldn’t reach.  But the blades, they would cut through the haze to Vitya...to his little boy.

 

The box was finished and wrapped up.  He gave it to Anton, having one of the boys deliver it seemed safer than doing so himself.  There was no intention of Viktor receiving it as a gift.  This was a reminder, not a present.  A reminder that Viktor was not his own man, he was a toy, a pet, something to play with.  And when he was naughty, as he had been, he was a slave, something to correct.  However, Mikhail breathed deeply knowing that even this was beyond correction.  Viktor had become something to destroy.

 

He was an angel. He would carve into the boy, take his last pleasure from him. Break him, ruin him, and ship the pieces back to the Japanese man that had turned him.

 

_ You can have the leftovers Katsuki.  But that’s all you’ll ever get. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Series - Northanger Abbey in which Mikhail's imagination runs mad.


	9. Northanger Abbey 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Den and Mags for reading this over today. Special thanks to Den for letting me write the Masha POV to this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail is standing on the edge of sanity and it takes only one push from a shadowy hand to end him over into madness. He is called away, thankfully, leaving Viktor to be rescued by his mother. Hiroko meets Alina for the first time, unfortunately they don't communicate well.

The glittering beauties shined out from their velvet cushion.  His hand ran over the blades, allowing a few knicks into the tips of his fingers as the blood added to the stains of the deep burgundy.  A smile slithered up to his lips as he thought of the art he would carve into the angel’s back.

 

_ You were so perfect for me, Viten’ka. _  The boy’s body had taken as much as he could, and more.  As the swaying body was raised off the bed, he felt the true fear finally bubble up to the skin.  It shone in the tensing of muscles as his arms were pulled above his head, lifting him off the bed.  With a swift kick the bed rolled out from underneath and the legs, heavy with muscle, pulled at the shoulders.  They didn’t pop as he had hoped, but there was still plenty of time.

 

The angel had broken late into the torture.  Pinches, and pulls to the hair, drew the attention to the present and the angel responded correctly.  Whimpering, begging, pleading, and then finally, dissolving to tears.  Mikhail had almost relented, almost, and then…

 

“Yuuri…”  It had been less than a whisper.  As if the word had left his brain and not his mouth.  But Mikhail saw the lips form the syllable, saw how the body responded to the softness of the thought of the Japanese man.  Mikhail had gone out of his mind.  Lashing wasn’t enough.

 

And now he would finally mark the boy as his.

  
  
  


Anton couldn’t remember a day when everything had fallen to shit as spectacularly as it had today.  The shipments were all running late and a cop, some kike, had been sniffing around the other warehouses.  They all knew that this was Mikhail’s fault, but none wanted to offer the idea...no one dared offend the Pakhan.

 

_ But there’s nothing above money.  Pahkan talks a good game about family, but he would cut out his own mother’s eyes if she took as much as a nickel from him.  Maybe now… _

 

“Boss, for you.”  Anton looked over to the thug holding out one of the burner phones they kept there.  He cast a look around the open space.  A group of tourists were huddled in the corner.  Some tiny children but there was something...funny...about their bodies.  He couldn’t quite figure out what was weird about them.

 

Taking the phone he shot the thug a look, “Keep an eye on them.”  He walked to the back office, “Privet.”

 

“Clear out, that cop is coming back.  He has a task force with him, and search warrants.”

 

Anton scoffed, “Fine.  We run the Office of Drug Enforcement…”

 

“No!  It’s the Office of Labour, they are going to claim looking for run away North Koreans.”  The voice on the phone sounded rushed, and Anton could hear cars turning on.  Then the line cut out.

 

Anton was left looking at the phone.  If he had a moment to consider the problem he would have thought it a clever tactic.  They had covered the drugs, covered the slavery, hell, even covered the money laundering...but the illegal labour of using NKs…

 

Shouting from the main room snapped his attention back to the present.  There were gunshots, then voices in a foreign tongue.  He walked out to see anarchy…

 

The children they had taken to sell weren’t children...they were acrobats.  Skilled dancers in Wushu.  The few adults were coaches and master of the artform.  They had waited for their kidnappers to turn soft, pretending to be terrified lambs then snapped into action.  Two held guns, while a group were running to the door.

 

The light from the outside almost blinded Anton and his men, stopping them in their tracks.  But the gymnasts kept running, screaming at the top of their lungs to bring as much attention as possible.

 

Anton stopped in his track, looking at three black vans waiting off to the side.   _ Those aren’t ours.  And if they aren’t ours… _

 

“Shit!”  Anton grabbed two of his men.  “Leave them, we have to move the rest of this as quickly as possible.”

 

The men who had attempted to chase after the athletes returned quickly and all efforts were put into moving the shipments of drugs into loading docs.  The electronics would have to sit and be confiscated.

 

Anton pulled out his phone.  If there was ever a time to have a relative of the Pahkan present it was now.

  
  
  


The little angel was still out.  Sound asleep, but never mind that, he would wake soon.  The first cut, if not the second then.  Mikhail delivered a single soft kiss to the tight flesh on the back.  He had rolled the bed back, then tied the boy so he was stretched out.   _ All the better for my art. _

 

“Start with the little one, build up slowly.”  The shadow had stepped forward, guiding Mikhail’s hand.  He never was able to see it directly, always just ducking behind a corner, always just out of sight, but always present.  And now, tangible.

 

Mikhail heard, felt, the words from the shade behind him.  The shade pushed the hand, the blade right at the skin…

 

The phone rang.  He breathed out a very annoyed sigh and answered, “I’ve asked not to be disturbed.”

 

“Sorry to interrupt, but this is important.  Polistiya will be here any minute, and the human cargo escaped.  We can’t find the boat to run the drugs up the coast…”

 

“Wait, slow down.  We don’t have to worry about this.”

 

“Boss, it’s the immigration.  They are pretending to look for NKs.”

 

Mikhail cursed.  He flung the blade into a corner. The shade behind him pulsed in anger.  A dark cold hand ran over his back but he shrugged it off.   _ Business first, pleasure later. _

  
  
  


In Hasetsu, Japan, Hiroko had felt it coming all day.  She knew when she would have a visitor.  Normally it was a warm feeling, as if an old friend was coming.  These were old, but they were strangers.  However, none had ever come to harm her.

 

_ This one isn’t coming to harm me, but she’s angry. _

 

She had sent Mari out to town on a silly errand, the girl narrowing her eyes at her mother knowing that this was a task of no purpose.  And her husband had been ordered into the garden for the afternoon.  He heard the command in her gentle voice, “I’ll let you know when you are done.”  He smiled his indulgent smile and walked out in his wide hat and gloves.

 

_ It has been wonderful growing old with you… _

 

Was that why she was angry?  This shade of a woman that would arrive today.

 

Hiroko started tea, hoping that the aroma of chamomile would calm the spirit and invite her in.  It didn’t.  No sooner had the kettle boiled then Hiroko felt the deathly cold enter the room.  Her breath hung in tiny icicles before her.

 

“What is this?”  She waved her hand through the air, dispelling the cold.

 

_ My son. _  Hiroko felt more than heard the words.  She turned slowly to see a woman...what was once a woman standing before her.  The face was twisted in anger and pain.  The soft mother was at a loss for words.  She poured a cup of tea and slid it across the table at the shade.

 

The cup spun across the room, shattering on the wall.   _ My Son! _

 

“I don’t know what you want.  I don’t know how to help you.”  Hiroko felt just as she had the first time she had seen a shade.  As a little girl, sitting on the bus, watching people ignore the old man in the corner.  Only she and a little puppy saw him.  He smiled at her, but she was terrified.

 

She was more than terrified now.  The kettle on the stove popped open, the contents spilling over the floor, glass shattering everywhere.  “Who is your son?”

 

The shade woman opened her mouth, leaning back and wailing.  Hiroko fell to the floor, unconscious.  Her last thought before surrendering to the dark was of Yuuri chasing a white rabbit.

  
  
  


Alina stood over her son.  She had watched that man and what he did.  She knew what he was going to do.  She saw the shade that chased that wretched line their entire lives.  She had even reached out to the living mother, but she didn’t know yet.  She couldn’t possibly know, not yet.

 

The living live in time, the dead live through it.  She knew Yuuri, the great love, the second mother he would find in that home.  The struggles he would face, the life he would lead.  But she also knew the danger of time blowing away, moving like a river in a new direction each time something is added or taken away.  Now she knew she stood at one such moment.  Her little son was going to die, and there was no one coming to save him.

 

The shade had retreated to the corner upon Mikhail’s departure, but it wouldn’t stay there for long.  She lowered herself, settling next to him, petting his hair with a hand that would never touch his again.  Watching his back rise and fall as he struggled for each breath, she knew the shade couldn’t stay away for long.  Nikiforov blood for Nikiforov blood, that’s how Andrei described it.   _ Blood will out. _

 

She kissed into his hair, feeling it rustle under her breath, slightly but enough.  Her heart blossomed in hope.  The shade stirred, she knew she would have to work fast.  She floated past a pipe leaning against the wall, causing it to fall.  The clang startled her son awake.  His blue eyes searching the room, seeing but not seeing.

 

“Yuuri?”  A shadow in the corner caught his eye and he buried his head in the sheets, sobbing.  The pain from his back filling him, making him wish he could just pass out and die.

 

A gentle flutter of warmth rested over his head.  He pulled up and for a moment and thought he caught the flutter of white blonde hair.  “Mama?”

 

He pulled at the restraints, feeling the weakness of them.  The pole in the room rolled down, the bed could roll as well.  Working quickly he freed himself, but was presented with a bigger problem.

 

“Where the hell am I?”  He had gotten out of the ties, but how to get out of the room, then building, then find his way back… all while naked.  He crouched on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest for a few moments, trying to understand all that had happened, and all that he had left to fight through.

 

He felt that warmth against, this back, but this time it was a push.  Viktor regained his feet and shivered.  Something across the room waved at him.   _ A lab coat? _  He ran over and donned the cloth. It was thin, and didn’t close completely but it would serve.  His feet were starting to cut from the debris left behind when this hospital was closed and abandoned.

 

“How do I get out?”  Viktor looked around the room, then stopped.  Of all the incredible things he had never believed.  He had to blink, clearing his eyes of tears.  A snowy rabbit sat, squat in the doorway, tweaking its nose at him.

 

_ Vitya, baby, follow me. _  She hopped in and out of the doorway, waiting for Viktor to gain his feet.  The boy took a tentative step towards her, and when she felt he would follow she took off.  Down the stairs that looked like they would hold him, across the floor that wasn’t entirely given over to rot, out the door that would crumble in the next storm.

 

She stopped and checked back on him.  The light of the night’s sky dazzled his eyes.  The cold had ceased being a problem, and that was a bad sign.  She hopped frantically about, catching his eye and watched as he scanned their surroundings.  His face crumbling, another wall.

 

“We’re stuck.”

 

_ No.  I’ll get you out.  I’ll get you to him...and I’ll give you to her.  Even if it breaks my heart.  You’ll be her little bunny. _

 

Viktor watched the bunny take off into the brush, following with only a half-hearted attempt.  However, he became enthusiastic as the bunny paused right at the opening of the chain linked fence.  Some teens had years ago cut into the wire, finding a place to drink and smoke, leaving this escape behind.

 

“Thank you!”  He followed out, a small path, covered in overgrowth that cut at his exposed legs led to a street, which slowly started to look familiar.  “I...I know where I am.”  He turned back, the rabbit was gone.  Viktor stifled the sob that wanted to break from his throat.  He hadn’t felt this alone since...since he had lost his mother.

 

Turning back to the road he walked to two blocks to his rink.  Rage beginning to boil over,  _ Mikhail you sick fuck.  You stash me only blocks away from my rink.  So when they found my body, broken and lifeless they would know how close I was that whole time. _

 

Viktor had long suspected Mikhail was a monster, but he now fully understood, that this man was the stuff of nightmares.  He was part of an evil that little children woke up screaming about, that Russian mothers sang to their children in songs of warning,  full grown men in prison quaked at this evil, it was something older and deeper than he had feared.

 

He would push that down for now.  Focusing his thoughts as they were beginning to cloud over with each step, he found his way into the rink, into his locker room, and into his old clothes.  Yuuri’s voice on the phone was strange, as if Viktor was falling miles away from him, down a dark hole.  Following the white rabbit.  Down. Down. Down…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail goes underground as the bust takes away his business. He finds that he is hunted by three sources, two of this world, and the third very deadly.


	10. Notes from the Underground 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail manages to make a serious change in the structure of the St. Petersburg Bratva. In his mad desire to regain Viktor he starts a turf war within his own organization which could end up benefiting him, or getting them all killed. The ripple of this move can be felt all the way to Hasetsu by Yuuri's grandfather who sends an urgent message to his grandson warning them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is to be read in conjunction with Den's release today. Please read her latest chapter in Glittering Youth. Big thanks to Den and Mags for the read over and edits on this.  
> This chapter is a direct companion to Den's most recent chapter ["Pluto"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12929673/chapters/32041143) please go read it!

**Present**

Mikhail sat back in his chair, looking at the determined faces of his new army.  These weren’t the old guard his uncle surrounded himself with. These were the younger men, the ones working night shifts in cold docks, starved for lack of pay, forced to steal from the Pahkan...and now they were his.  And he would be Pahkan. These men were ready to form a coup. These men were ready to kill their Pahkan, kill his men, and install him, Mikhail, as their new leader.

 

He was happy at the moment.  Not because of their loyalty.  Not because he had personally killed the rat that brought down his family.  But because he finally saw how he could take down Katsuki and take back what is his.

 

_ I will run St. Petersburg with my little angel by my side.  My delicious little angel. _

  
  
  


**Three Days Prior**

Mikhail stood at the park, watching his little Vitya tag along behind that Katsuki piece of shit.  The men Katsuki brought with him stuck out like sore thumbs.  _ Just advertise that you’re Yakuza next time you’re in town. _

 

Then the thought struck him.  The Yakuza were openly walking around in St. Petersburg.  Old man Katsuki was powerful...well, strong was a better word.  He never wielded that power in vain, and often showed a restraint that fooled people into thinking he was weak.   _ Old man Katsuki is anything but weak.  Let’s hope he’s got someone else lined up, this bitch can’t lead shit.   _ He smirked watching Vitya tug at Katsuki’s collar leading him into the little silver haired angel’s former apartment.

 

As a younger man, Mikhail had learned about the tenuous peace between his family and the Japanese.  The two organizations shared water, shared trading routes, and had to make peace. After the Volkov’s took power from the Baranovsky clan, the Katsukis became...cold to Russian alliance.  Then Putin did them a favor and took part of the Black Sea. This opened up a new avenue for St. Petersburg and the Volkov family found themselves heading the right crime family at the exact right time.

 

Old man Katsuki had his Sea of Japan and the warm water that never froze.  They had waterway through Istanbul year round now. So while the Yakuza found themselves playing UN to refugees from North Korea and victims of earthquakes, the Bratva began reinventing the triangle trade, guns for drugs for humans.  And making a shit ton of money.

 

Mikhail stood, thinking of how the Yakuza got into his country, carried their weapons, ran their tech, and pulled out HIS angel.  Bratva controlled the airstrips, so where the fuck was the plane?

 

He pulled out his phone and punched in some numbers, “Allo, Sasha.  There’s a small squad of Yakuza on our turf.” He listened at the voice on other end sputtered, “Neit.  We’ll not make a move on them. This is just to find out what the interest is. I need you to take down this number and follow the actions...it’s three cars in total.”

 

He relayed the information, along with picture of the guards to the man on the other end.  He was careful. He knew who he needed to call, and who he should not call. This was the part of the plan where he had to dance his quickest and not fall once.

 

Viktor opened the window facing the street and looked down at the park.   _ He’s looking directly at me. _  Mikhail could feel the little blue eyes searching for something.   _ See me, my little love.  Our blood will find each other. _

 

He watched as Katsuki came up behind Vitya, whispered something to the boy and turned him from the window.  Katsuki didn’t even look.  _ Enjoy him all you want now, I’ll have him back. _

 

A few hours later, Mikhail saw the first of his spies interact with the guards by the car.  He laughed knowing the act even from this distance.

 

Two of his men, dressed as American college students, walked by.  Camera out on a selfie stick as they talked to the imaginary audience.

 

“Okay, so Russia is so far, a completely badass affair!”  A boy in a rugby shirt wobbled to a halt five feet from the tail-end SUV.  Akio took immediate notice of the activity. “So Greg and me been drinking…”

 

“And FUCKING!”  The boy to his left was wearing an orange loose fit sleeveless tee.  He slung an arm over the other.

 

“So much pussy in this country!”  Rugby shirt, lurched forward and spun around.  The camera now tilted at the license plates of the SUV, and picking up the images of Akio and Kimiko.  Two of the other guards smiled at the antics of the “ugly americans”, rolling their eyes.

 

“Pretty mother fucking birds in this country.”  Orange tee held up two fingers and a thumb to the camera, “I had three just last night...all balancing right here.”

 

The two boys sputtered laughter, gathered themselves and started to walk past.  The orange shirt spotted Akio’s smirk and stopped. He handed the stick to rugby shirt.  He steadied himself in front of Akio and bowed comicially, then pulled the skin around his eyes back jutting his teeth out.  The two burst into laughter and moved on.

 

“Fucking Americans.”  The guard at the door snorted.

 

Akio and Kimiko shared a look.  “I’ll inform Katsuki.” Kimiko went into the building to let her boss know.

 

Akio signaled the guards to approach him, speaking to them and into the speaker at his shoulder he began, “We’ve been made.  Let’s be ready to move. Keep your eyes open and alert me to anything suspicious or anyone paying close attention.”

 

The guards quickly agreed, “How did you know they were Russian?  Bratva?”

 

“A couple of things.  The shoes were wrong. Those were boots, Americans wear trainers everywhere.  They don’t call women birds in that country. And he did this…” holding up two fingers and a thumb.  “Americans do it this way…” he held up three fingers.

 

The guard whistled impressed then started trying to emulate the hand gesture, “That’s weird.”

 

Akio nodded.  Kimiko came out, “Katsuki’s aware.  They’ll be out soon.”

 

From his bushes Mikhail saw the guards talking, it was the flash of the three fingers that told him the spies hadn’t passed undetected.   _ That’s okay...it’s really more that spies in my family I want to know about. _  He watched his angel move boxes... _ the box...my blood, our blood... _ That box would travel with is angel.  It would follow him and he would forever be able to track him.  He felt his desire for his angel grow painful.

 

Vitya looked out across the street, looking directly at Mikhail but missing him in his cover.  The little angel couldn’t see him, but he could feel him.  _ We are meant to be my beauty.  Don’t worry, I’ll claim you again.  And now… I can carve away wherever he had touched you. _

  
  
  


**Two Days Prior**

Pavel Volkov hung up the phone.  Having that many Yakuza in the city wasn’t a problem.  It was having the old man’s grandson there that bothered him.  Two years ago the boy had skated in the city. The old man did the courtesy to call ahead, talk to him personally, make sure permissions were granted.  This time, they showed up, took what they wanted, and walked off with that little boy his nephew was obsessing with.

 

_ Just take him and get out. _

 

The distraction that boy had caused in his nephew, the bizarre behavior he had heard of, it was too much.  The Pahkan mulled over the conversation he had just finished.

 

Katsuki called to apologize for not clearing his grandson’s travels first.  “But you know how impetuous the young can be. You have a nephew about that age yourself, do you not?”

 

Pavel chewed his lip.  The way Katsuki spoke of his nephew... _ he knows.  He’s knows the sickness in that boy. _

 

“He’s just helping a friend move out.  This friend, a famous skater in your country, has caught the eye of an important man, but one that doesn’t treat him so well.”

 

Pavel chose his words, “Well, this is nice of your grandson but perhaps he should let that skater take care of it himself.  Our organizations have been good at letting each deal with its problems...internally.”

 

He heard Katsuki breathing down the line.  The man was angry, but controlling himself.  “Sometimes a problem crosses borders. And when that happens, is it not the responsibility of the leaders to protect their neighbors?  I’m reminded of an American novel, in which a man shot a rabid dog to protect his neighbors.”

 

A flash of his nephew jumped before his eyes.   _ A rabid dog...is that what he is...is that what we all have become? _

 

“Moving someone out shouldn’t take too long?”

 

He could hear... _ actually hear... _ the smile in Katsuki’s voice.  “No. I suspected my grandson will return in only a few days.  And I don’t believe you will need to worry any further. My grandson’s friend will stay in our neighborhood.”

 

“Make sure that he does.”

 

The line went dead.  He hung up thinking of his nephew.  There was an illness that followed his family.  He saw members of his family struggle with it, a sickness that drove them to follow power to their end.  He had tried to avoid it. But he could feel its step falling nearer his back everyday. He knew he would fall victim to it as well.

  
  
  


**One Day Prior**

Anton had evaded the police, easy enough.  Hiding in a couple of safe houses to ensure that he had dropped the tail he saw, and then stayed out all night, moving from place to place to drop the two tails he assumed were still on him.  It was 6 a.m. and the pale pinks of the sky were forewarning the dawn when he finally crawled home.

 

Leaning against the door he closed it with his weight, sighing.  He moved into the kitchen, pulling a glass from the drying rack next to the sink and filling it from the tap.  Russia water wasn’t exactly delicious but it was still potable...in this city. Drinking quickly he rested against the counter listening to the sounds of the building.  Dead Quiet. However, it was the deep inhale that followed warning him he was not alone.

 

“Anton.  My loyal friend.”  Mikhail came out of the bathroom drying his hands on a towel that he discarded on the floor.  “I’m so happy to see you made it out.”

 

He contorted his face quickly,  _ play the game...stay ahead…   _ He pulled his gun, pointing it directly at Mikhail, “What the fuck was that!  You told the cops of the shipment.”

 

Mikhail frowned in pity, making small tut noises with his tongue.  “Tsk. Tsk. There’s no logic to that claim. We both know it.” Comically, he raised his hands to shoulder level but stepped slowly forward.

 

Anton felt his knees begin to go weak, he held the gun level to Mikhail’s head as it approached.  “Stop there.”

 

Mikhail reached out taking the gun easily.  “My grandmother was an herbalist. Very intelligent woman.  She knew what could be used for every purpose. Some to restore health.  Others...to take it away.”

 

Anton watched as the world went off kilter.   _ I’m falling… I’m falling to the floor.  Where is my body? _  He felt the pain from the impact on the floor but it was dulled, as if his body had extra layers wrapped around it…layers he couldn’t fight his way through.

 

Mikhail sat on the couch looking at his former second hand slowly fading on the floor in front of him.  He took a half smoked cigarette from the ashtray in front of him and pulled out the small envelope that Anton had hidden so well, but not enough from Mikhail.

 

“Steven Dorsett.”  Anton hadn’t heard his true name spoke in almost twelve years.  He winced slightly at the slip on the V sounding more like F.

 

Steven Dorsett grew up in Connecticut, he learned to skate backwards when he was seven and made a life long enemy of Devryn Callum that day.  The two would battle for top grades, captain of the varsity hockey team, all the nonsense. He wished he had told Devryn he liked him then…what was he doing these days...university?  Somewhere in the midwest or something…

 

“I’m sorry am I boring you?”  Mikhail lurched forward from the couch, noticing that Anton’s mind had wondered.

 

“I was thinking of a mistake I made.  A long time ago. I’m in the last minutes of my life…”

 

“Oh, you’re not going to die.”  Mikhail rose, walked to the door and let in two thugs.  Anton recognized them from the docks. They were loyal to him.  “That’s the one that brought the cops down on us.”

 

The men walked in, took a look at Anton and grimaced.  “He got close to the Pahkan?” The man rose his bloodshot eyes to Mikhail.

 

In answer Mikhail frowned, “I’d prefer to think that the Pahkan in weakness let this man into our nest.  Remember how he got here.”

 

Anton’s thoughts ran wild as he felt himself being dragged to his feet and moved out of the apartment.  A large van waited for them outside the building, as neighbors and people walked past the small group, pointedly averting their eyes.   _ Never a witness in all of Russia… _  He felt the cold metal floor connect to his cheek as he was thrown in and the door slammed shut behind him.   _ But I didn’t let the cops in… _

  
  
  
  


**Two hours later**

“This man got into our organization, crept his way into our trust, our brotherhood.”  Mikhail had the bleeding Anton on his knees, staining the imported rugs underneath him.

 

Ahead of them both sat the soon to be ex-Pahkan of the St. Petersburg Bratva, the soon to be ex-most powerful man in Russia.  Behind that balding head in an expensive suit was a framed picture of this man, shaking hands with a grateful Putin. America’s election had gone exactly as he’s planned without half as much ‘interference’ as the press credited them with.

 

To his side he could see his guards fidgeting nervously.  Mikhail had walked in with Anton and three of his own men.  “Nephew, I’m proud of you for capturing him. Now just leave him with us…”

 

“No, Uncle.”  The way his nephew rolled on uncle, ignoring the title he would have used normally, annoyed the older man.  “You see Interpol has tried to get a man into the upper levels of this organization for decades. It was easy to get them into the docks, and we knew each and every one of them.  Feeding false information, giving up enemy families...all useful gains through playing Interpol.”

 

The Pahkan rose, stepping out from behind his desk.  The beautiful glass tea set his wife had bought him on their 25th wedding anniversary sat on the side board.  He slowly measured out the water and tea, allowing it to steep for two.

 

“And what are you thoughts on this?”  he didn’t turn to face the nephew. Trusting his guards to watch the minute movements, anticipate where they all knew this was going.

 

“See I think this was a deliberate plant.  Someone was sacrificing something...us, this organization, our merchandise, their lives...for something bigger.  Something angelic.” Mikhail shot a look at his men. The reached to their coat pockets, showing the guards behind the desks they were armed.  Each team exchanged a nod.

 

At the side table the tea came to flavor and the elderly man poured out two cups.  He knew how his nephew took his tea...just like the boy’s mother, his sister. No flavor.  Dead. He turned and handed a cup, “and who would make a trade like that?”

 

“I think we both know who would do that, Uncle.”  Mikhail smiled, bringing the tea to his lips.

 

The Pahkan smirked, “If you are thinking to place blame on me…”

 

“We know Pahkan.”  One of the guards behind the desk drew his weapon, pointing it directly at the old man.  “We know you sacrificed us.”

 

The Pahkan’s eyes grew wide. “Just what the fuck are you doing?”

 

“Those were good men, that was money you wasted, Pahkan.”  The guard opened fire. Just one shot, directly to his stomach.  The glass fell from his hand...the little gold filigree edging the beautiful glass glinted, catching the light as it fell the length of his leg, then shattered at his feet.  His body followed quickly, blood pouring from the finger sized hole punched into his stomach and through his back. His eyes met those of the man already on the rug, still breathing, not nearly as destroyed as he would be.

 

Mikhail walked over and looked down at the pained expression on his uncle’s face.  He remembered the summer the older man had taken him fishing, four fucking boring hours in a boat, doing nothing.  It was the men that had really helped Mikhail learn the business. These men, whom he came up with, the men who owed him, as Pahkan, their loyalty, their lives.

 

“Pahkan?”  The guard who had fired spoke, looking at Mikhail.  The other guard stood still, his loyalty unsettled.

 

Mikhail walked over to the shocked guard.  “So you have a choice to make. This man helped get your brothers killed, your money stolen.  And for what? Who knows?” He put the cup of tea down on the desk, “In an hour the old guard will be in here, looking for answers.  Setting up their new hierarchy. They will kill you first.” He saw the look of horror in the young man’s face. “Or, you come with me.  We’re going to let the old men squabble, pick each other off. Let them clean each other’s resources out, then I take over. Same Volkov name, new power.”

 

The guard swallowed hard, he was horrified, but it wasn’t the lunatic standing in front of him…it was that shadow in the corner.  There were long lines slinking their way out, like smoke, all attaching themselves to Mikhail’s face...but no one else saw it. He knew no one else was seeing this.  He nodded quickly, “Yes Pahkan, I’m with you.”

 

Mikhail twitched in satisfaction, his head turning to the side, listening to an unheard voice.  The guard in front of him saw the motion, saw the smoke pull the man’s attention.  _ My father...he’ll know what this is. _

 

“Well, I’m not really looking for staff at this moment.”  Mikhail smiled cruelly then with catlike quickness pulled his gun, firing once into the horrified face.  The boy dropped like wood to the floor.

 

He saw the looks of confusion on the other men, “He wasn’t about to turn.  We would have to waste time watching him.”

 

They nodded in assent.  Two grabbed Anton, dragging him to their next appointment.  Now to rally the troops.

  
  
  


**Present**

Mikhail looked out at his small but strong congregation.  They were the leftover men of the organization.

 

“Not only did the Pahkan, my uncle, let a rat from Interpol in… Not only has he allowed foreign powers on our turf…  But he has given you all up!” He stood from his chair, walking among them. Some were older, a good sign, many were young, a strong sign.  All were nodding in agreement with each other.

 

“Now, there are the older men, his cabinet, they are picking over the bones of what’s left for them.  They will divvy up the streets, carve little maps for themselves to fight over. While you...you starve!”  He saw many shoot glares at one another, muttering agreements.

 

“They will fight with each other until we are so weak that Yakuza will walk right in and take this.”

 

“Boss?  What do you mean, the Yakuza?”

 

Mikhail looked over, exactly the question he was hoping for.  “I saw a small group of Yakuza, moving with the old man’s grandson in our streets.  They are still here…” Several members started grumbling, two looked ready to jump to their feet for a fight.  “They came to take the boy’s little fuck toy home…” the group laughed. “But even that, is ours. Yakuza came into St. Petersburg, without asking, and took, without permission.  A weak Pahkan and his old ways lead us right to this.”

 

He caught the eyes of his men in the back, nodding at them.  “Now, we have Interpol…” He motioned for Anton to be brought in.  “This man,” he grabbed Anton’s hair, pulling his head up. Anton was barely recognizable.  He had been beaten so badly, the muscles on his face had spasmed into mush. He couldn’t walk, hold his arms up, grasp anything as so many bones had been broken.  One of the eyes had exploded after a blow, the other was probably useless by the look of his head. Whether there was a man in there any longer didn’t matter, there wouldn’t be one there soon.  “This man got closer to the Pahkan than any spy previously. And the Pahkan himself installed him in my warehouse. I spotted him within weeks. Played him for months. And now I offer him to you, as my proof, that as Pahkan I’ll send a message to those who threaten you, us.”  He pulled out his blades, looking down.

 

_ Vitya...this should have written my love for you on your precious skin.  I’ll dirty just this one...and I’ll use this one to kill Katsuki myself. Then I’ll write my love for your over every inch of your skin. _

 

He had to concentrate to keep his erection from growing too much.  The blade flashed quickly light and dark mixing in the motion, then the gurgling noise as the mess of a man on the floor fought for the last breath of life he had.  The blade worked quickly through the neck, through the muscles, and through the spidery sinews of the neck until the pop of vertebrae liberated the head. Mikhail’s hand in the hair clenched and raised it in triumph.

 

The men lost their minds, howling at the blood sport in delight.  The darkness feeding from all of their hate and lust. The tree blooming across the room, feeling out those that it would take from, feed off of.  The smoke feeding into them, feeding from them, filling the tree and giving to Mikhail as his strength grew with his rage.

 

“I will send a message.”  He howled into the crowd.

  
  
  


There were two messages.  The first was going to America.  The second was going to that red-headed bitch.  She thought she was so fucking cute and clever, pulling his Vitya away, warping his little mind.  He would wrap his hands around her neck, squeeze until her tongue bulged out.

 

The cardboard box in front of him held the little carcass.  It had been a pleasure to buy this perfect little bunny, taking it directly from the hands of a cooing child.  Listening to the whining tears as she screamed.  _ If only I could have killed it right in front of her. _

 

At home he took the blades to the bunny.  Carving it, killing it, and writing his love across its body.   _ This is just a test run, a postcard to my Vitya.  I’m coming for you. Anyone that gets in the way will get hurt.  We belong together. We are the same blood. _

 

The body in one box, the head in another.  He let the men pick up the boxes for delivery.  The third would meet his angel in Detroit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail's shake up is only getting started. Viktor can run but not hide and Yuuri's ability to keep him safe is not as strong as he'd hope.


	11. Notes from the Underground 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail feels the break of his blood bond with Vitya, as does the entity which has chased him. However, while Mikhail's hold was tenuous that of the entity cannot be broken. It helps Mikhail come into the power he needs to not only reclaim Viktor but to take what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank to you Den for waiting while I got through the end of my skate season. It was a wonderful time, but busy! I had two shows (both with solos) on one weekend. Then there was the inevitable emotional drop from seeing your skate friends daily to seeing them rarely. But now I'm back and writing again. I'm hoping to get a chapter for Memories up this weekend. Thank you to all who patiently waited.

Mikhail shot out of his seat, tipping the wooden relic to the ground.  His eyes darted around the room, the faces of the few men with him grew grim.  They were getting uncomfortably familiar to this bizarre behavior. The newly appointed Pahkan-to-be was breathing erratically, his posture bent and cramped, his hands looking more like claws as fingers clenched and unclenched.  At that moment, Mikhail looked almost feral but there was something more...something much deeper than an animalistic desire for violence. His men saw it plainly, one saw much more.

 

A guard standing at the door took one look at Mikhail’s face and for an instant saw that of his uncle.  The man that had died in a bloody fight with the police years ago. His mother seldom spoke of her brother except to say he was mad dog in need of a kennel.  The guard, a boy at the time, thought his uncle just another of Russia’s long list of shady bad men, up to shady bad men things. But one night, he saw the evil etched on the face.  His uncle had come in, fresh from a kill and looking for a safe house. The sister knew better than to put him on the street and let him hide in the boy’s closet. The boy watched as his uncle sat, butterflied in the closet, smiling ear to ear, eyes lit with hellfire as he recounted the screams of the men he gutted.  That night the boy had nightmare after nightmare, each time waking to see his uncle’s eyes in the closet glowing and staring at him. Something thick and heavy floated across the room, choking him. He had never seen his uncle after that, all he knew was that whatever malevolent force enthralled him had finally killed him.  However, looking at the man he would help take over St. Petersburg, he swore it was the same eyes. Using the distraction that Mikhail’s outburst caused, he moved out of the room, hastily unbuckling the guns from his belt, placing them on the table and leaving for good.

 

Leonid approached the desk, his hands up to show they were empty.  The last man who walked up to Mikhail in this state had lost an eye.  “Boss...Pahkan?” He corrected himself quickly. There were still two members of the older guard battling it out for control of the streets which made the term premature.  Mikhail’s army might be small but it was ruthless.

 

Crazed eyes settled on Leonid, the man before him stopping in his tracks, even backing a pace.  “I need the room.” Mikhail’s voice was strange, the words came out of his mouth as if unsynced with his lips.  Beyond Leonid’s lean form, he saw the shadow in the corner pulse, it was angry...not as angry as he, but the rage from the corner was darker, more malignant.

 

The men jumped and moved into the hallway, deserting him.  Leonid turned, giving one last look as he closed the door. He exhaled leaning against the door and listened as the shrieking began on the other side.  Turning, he saw the blanched faces of the men standing behind him.

 

_ There are less here everyday.  New men come in, deserting the old ranks, but then they spend just a week, perhaps two with us and they disappear. _

 

“Get out into the streets, find some information on where the first and seconds of the other houses stand.”  He kept his voice level, not revealing the panic he felt rising in his gut.

 

“Boss?”  A man stepped forward, Lev.  He’d worked with this man for ten years, putting in sweat, building an empire, and now watching a new one crumble around them.

 

“We’re looking for information, that’s all for now.”  He hoped the man understood his intent.  _ For now...and later, we’ll be looking for bridges to new houses. _

  
  
  


 

“What the fuck did you do?”  Mikhail looked down at his hands, ashes poured into his hands, the more he brushed them off the more appeared.  He clapped hands together, clouds of black soot rose and fell to his feet, but as he looked at the hands again they turned grey and powdery.

 

The shade in the corner was pulsing, heart beating from deep within it.  The color growing darker, but streaks of white electric light ran through what looked like veins.  With each flash, Mikhail’s head throbbed violently.

 

“What did he do?”  Mikhail approached the pulsing mass...finally able to call it that as he plunged hands into the center.  What was previously myst and shade enveloped his hands like a thick syrup, both warm and cold at the same time.

 

“Show me.”

 

The shade pulled back.  The black viscous liquid pulling cleanly off his hands, removing the ashes as it went.  Mikhail watched it tease back, sensing if not hearing the whispered voice...

 

_ Trade. _

 

“Anything you want.”

 

_ Blood for blood. _

 

“Easy…”

 

_ Yours… _

 

Mikhail stilled, he grimaced pulling his sleeves back to reveal the veiny thick forearms.  “Take.”

 

_ Take and give. _

 

The shade darted in, seeping into his skin stabbing and piercing.  He winced at first, then groaned, then screams turned to shrieks. Visions came to his head.  Vitya standing...surrounded by flowers and smoke.

 

_ White smoke.  Blew away your magic. _

 

“Fuck you.”

 

_ You thought you could do this without me. _

 

The myst pulled back, loosening its hold on his hands and arm, then jumped back into his arm.  The feeling of ice piercing through him, into him, the pressure of the foreign invasion up his veins under his skin drove him to his knees keening.  The vision started again. Vitya glowing white as a woman... _ witch _ ...came up, enfolding him in her arms.  A song on her lips, unheard by the others now ringing in his ears.  That pig standing next to him, touching what doesn’t belong to him. Dirty foreign hands on his priceless porcelain doll.

 

_ They broke your spell. _

 

The older woman led Vitya to a small fire, the box, the letters all burning.  In his hands stayed the letter Mikhail had written the night he learned of their connection.  The pale fingers held the missive, dangling it over a blaze, then releasing it.

 

“No!”

 

The letter fluttered down into the fire, not catching at first, then slowly glowing with a rage of its own.  Blood curses don’t go easily, and this was unique in its strength and malice. The paper burnt slowly, words glowing as the ink ignited into a flame.  Mikhail thought of the delight he felt when he realized they were of the same blood.

 

The words of his letter... _ what courses through me, shall pass into you.  We are one, your body is mine to sculpt, to shape.  You were born to give me pleasure, and I was created to guide you.  Keeping our blood together, free of the pollution of others, increasing my strength.  You are my source, free for me to take from, feed off of. The pain of your life is my glory, the songs you sing as I carve words of love across your skin is the true letter I will write for us. _  But now that letter lay in ashes, a witch daring to take the darling boy from Mikhail.

 

“You can’t take what is mine, what is part of me.  He is mine as is the air I breathe, the ground under my feet.”

 

_ He belongs with us. _

 

“Yes.  How?”

 

_ The witch is keeping him safe.  Kill her, claim him. _

 

Mikhail focused into the vision accepting the knowledge with the blood sacrifice.  There were two women...two witches. One living, one dead. The dead turned to him, eyes crystal blue.  She came into focus, changing from a fuzzy dull grey vision to a woman, strong. She walked through the others, passing through them unseen and unfelt except by what must have been the pig’s mother.  The brown eyes of that woman watched as the ghost of Alina passed to block the field of vision.

 

“Bitch.”  Mikhail’s words spat out across time and space, reaching her.

 

Alina stepped out through the shade to place a hand on his face.  It burned cold on his face, a scream tore from his lips. Her face grew closer to his, lips moving in slow motion as the words hissed out, “You will not touch my son.”

 

The shade closed around her, liquid pouring over her face, as the flesh melted off revealing muscle and bone underneath.  She uttered no moan of pain. In fact the last glance was an eerie jaw, grinning as the flesh rotted away from the teeth.

 

_ The witch. _

 

“Will die, and he will be mine.”

 

_ Let me in. _

 

Mikhail pulled back.  In his madness he knew what was being asked.  To live as one with the demon that his family had begged into their lives.  Having a demon in the bargain, having one’s debt owed to one is a hefty price.  Living as part of one, its essence flowing just under the skin, thoughts shared by two minds, is something more.

 

_ Let me in. _

 

“What will I get?”

 

_ Power. _

 

Mikhail froze.  Power, the four letter word of the twenty-first century.  Only people of true strength could grasp it, only the ruthless could wield it.  He knew what was offered. This is more than running thugs in the street, bullying bag men and pimps.  This was the power of leaders of nations. Power that came with ultimate corruption.

 

In the vision Vitya’s face, porcelain and pristine glowed in the dying fire light.  From behind that pig touched his waist, brushing disgusting lips across his hair. Mikhail felt something deep within him stir in anger and lust.

 

“Do it.”

 

The shade did not wait, it poured into his body. The pain was intense.  He fell to the floor, a scream locked silently on his lips. The pain too hard and real to give voice to it.  Visions of ancestors from his past ran through the room, men and women making deals with dark entities, the results gaining them power, then falling.  All those before him had refused this power. They had remained outside of it, too scared to grab hold of what was truly theirs. Visions of Vitya by his side, docile and silent.  The little blue eyes looking up with fear, the silver hair grown long again braided and wound round his throat. At his side the lithe body sat on a pillow, waiting for his use. At his feet lay bodies…

 

Mikhail felt the heat in his head growing, the pain seering, finally the scream came and he blacked out with it.

  
  
  


 

Leonid was the first to go back in.  Mikhail was seated behind the desk, an eerie calm washed over him.  The eyes...Leonid noticed the strange hue, how they captured the light.

 

“I need men in Detroit before the week is out.  And I want two more in Japan.” Mikhail rose, coming to Leonid’s side.  He put a hand on the man’s shoulder, “There will be no escape plans.”

 

Leonid’s eyes shot up, he had prided himself on an excellent poker face, but he found himself floundering in this man’s presence.  “Pahkan…”

 

“Shhh.”  Mikhail sat on the edge of his desk.  “We’ll move against the last remaining strong hold, and take St. Petersburg easily.”

 

“Boss?”  Leonid felt other men come up behind him, drawn by the calm power of the room.  “We aren’t even sure where they are hiding…”

 

“I know where they. And everyone has a weakness.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail will make his international moves, putting pieces in place.


	12. Long Distance 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail has assigned the task of following Viktor in Detroit to a very capable woman, but he has ordered her to work with two completely useless people. She shares her backstory and her goals for after this job, along with her reticence about this particular hit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Den and Mags for digging through this last minute. And as always thank you to Den for letting me write the dark side of the Glittering Youth fic.

To say that she loved lists was an understatement.  She lived by them. Her mother would often make fun of her, the lists, the time tables, endless scheduling and managing.  “You should have been born British.” The matriarch would chide and smile, never once knowing that what her daughter was doing would become a deadly obsession, and a skill used by some of the most horrible people in all of Russia and beyond.

 

Today her lists included setting up a long-con observation of a mark ordered by the newest Pahkan of St. Petersburg.  She had been working in the Americas for so long that she had lost track of the St. Petersburg groups, they were never as stable at the Moscow families.  But she never questioned where the money came from, money from unstable families bought just as much as money from the best of families. Clean money, blood money, there was no difference. There was no bonus in honor, nor detriment in savagery. There was profit and loss and that was all. And, as a line in one her favorite American memoirs so succinctly put it,  _ whores eat chicken. _  She had never been to West Virginia, but she assumed it was like the Russia of her mother’s childhood.  Starvation, brutality, corruption...and opportunity for those brave enough to be ruthless.

 

The first list was the most irritable.  Her employer, she was still uncertain he was actually Pahkan, had insisted she take on two assistants.  That was not difficult, she often ran long-cons with others, it was necessary. However, this time they were not of her choosing.  Two men were scheduled to arrive that day to “assist” her.

 

Normally her employers gave her free-reign and they were happy with her results.  Her last job was easy. She frowned at the thought of working with men not of her choosing.   _ Very well then.  I’ll just have to make the best of it. _

  
  
  


 

“The mark was just a boy really.”  Billy, the younger of her two employees sat at the computer uploading some files from his camera.

 

She clucked her tongue at the size of it.  “You should just use your phone. There’s no need for something this…” she eyed the giant monstrosity sitting on the table, “enormous.  It’s more likely to draw the eye.”

 

He cocked his head looking up at her, “But I thought I would blend in better.  You know, look like an art student or a youtuber or something.”

 

Her mouth formed a line, “Maybe…”   _ It’s a silly thought, but at least this one this thinking. _  Her other employee arrived the day earlier than this one.  They were both Americans, which didn’t bother her, she worked with Americans all the time, however there was an unprofessionalism to both of them.  And the marked differences in their personalities let her know that whoever arranged for these boys to work with her hadn’t bothered to look into their backgrounds or strengths at all.

 

“Anyway, I mean...are we really following this kid?”  Not much more than a kid himself, the boy turned back to the pictures on the table. There sat Viktor smiling as he walked with Yuuri to the rink, talking with Shinoba on his way to a literature class.  The silver hair had been cut shorter than the picture she was sent with the assignment, possible from earlier. “I mean, he doesn’t really look like the type to mess with a Pahkan.”

 

_ No he doesn’t. _  She frowned, picking up a picture, taken from the park across the street and into the window of the apartment Viktor shared with Yuuri and Phichit.  The boy was looking out the window, arms folded around his slender frame, eyes cast upwards, mouth drawn.  _ He looks so young.  More like a scared rabbit than a man. _

 

She shook off her thoughts.  “We follow orders, which means you follow my lead.”  She said, dropping the picture to the table. “These are good.  You at least know how to use that thing. However I want you to hang back further.  You’re of no use if your cover is blown.”  _ And if I’m guessing correctly these other men are Yakuza.  I don’t need them sniffing around me. _

 

She thought of her bank accounts.  A nice, tidy sum sat in several banks spread across the U.S.   _ Almost enough now. _  Perhaps after this job or the next she would be able to disappear.  Buy a small cottage in Maine, bake bread, run a book club, raise rabbits.   _ Be normal, still, quiet. _

  
  
  


 

It was her last job that gave her the idea of Maine.  She had tracked a mark all the way into Quebec, some foolish drug dealer that had crossed one of the Moscow families.  She was to track, prove, and execute under order. It was a simple job and she brought on no help. It was two months in when she finally got the go-ahead to kill the man.

 

She knew his habits better than he did.  Following him from the club he ran his little economy from to his home in a shitty slum, she readied her weapon.  But then he surprised her. The man, in his early thirties but already showing signs of age, turned left, took the highway out of the city.  He began driving towards New Brunswick.

 

Behind him, in the plain rental car she grimaced.  This route went through the States. She had her passport on her, but still liked to remain invisible the entire day of a hit, a full 24 hours both prior and after. This broke a rule.  But she followed him.

 

True to most Canadian drug dealers he knew the way into the States that the government never bothered with.  Exiting the highway into a small rural neighborhood he drove through small towns, each more quiet than the next.  The woman lived for routine, this was the opposite.

 

Finally he pulled over, exited his car and stalked into a barn on the side of a lonely road.  It was just turning dusk. She knew better than to stop and drove on for another mile before pulling over and hiding her car in the left-over brush from winter.  She covered herself for a long night outside, anorak and thick boots, a side arm, knife on her leg, and rifle along her back. She drifted into the woods, using the trees to keep a straight line.

 

The barn house wasn’t hard to find, but that made her even more cautious.  She could hear shouts and smell the chemicals on approach. Assessing the area, she could tell that no one had bothered to post guards, or even a simple look out, and that allowed her to come up against the side wall to look in through the weather-beaten cracks.  Chipping paint flaked off as she pressed her forehead against the wood, careful not to create a groan in the wood.

 

“What’s the fucking hold up?”  Her mark was standing over another man at a table.

 

The man in question took a long sniff of coke and tilted his head back.  “Fuck you man. It’s done when I say it’s done, and baby, she ain’t done.”

 

Her mark ran a frustrated hand through thinning hair.  He walked over to a table that looked like seventh grade chemistry gone wrong.  “Are you even cooking meth here? I gave you a lot of money to start this up, and it looks like bullshit to me.”

 

From the table his partner chuckled, “Shows what you fucking know.”  Rising quickly the chair he was on toppled behind him and he wavered on his feet.  Panting, his breath came out in white clouds. “This right here, you ignorant swine, is the most potent batch you’ll ever wrap your rotten teeth around.  It’s got twice the FosB kick, and releases more dopamine into the system, while not affecting heart and endocrine system as much. But I want to see if I can mellow that down even more before it hits streets.”  He ran a hand over his stash, as if praising a favored child.

 

The mark rolled his eyes, “Jacques, for fuck’s sake. This ain’t Breaking Fucking Bad...just give me the shit.  You can make your upgrade for season two, okay?”

 

“Fucking Apple computers and Disneyland…”

 

With quicker reflexes than she had expected out of him, the mark grabbed Jacques by the back of the next and slapped a hand over his mouth.  “I swear to fucking baby Jesus if you give me that fucking lecture about how Apple and Disney both hurt their brands by rolling out faulty product just to make deadline I’ll shove my boot up your ass.  I’m not selling Mickey Mouse or fucking phones. I’m selling DRUGS!” He released the man so quickly Jacques fell on his ass. “Load the shit in my car.”

 

Jacques shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts, then nodded wordlessly.

 

Outside she realized that this was the moment.  She would just kill both men and leave them in this barn for the authorities to find.  The job hadn’t included the other but she was certain the hiring committee wouldn’t mind her taking out this addle-brained pseudo-scientist.

 

Silently moving to the front of the barn she watched through cracks as the two men moved slowly putting together packages for his car.  The door remained closed, she took position behind his car, ready to pick them off as they exited that shitty barn.

 

Jacques came out first, a cigarette dangling from his lips, both arms laden with boxes.  She lined up her shot, waited for the mark to appear as well. With the squeeze of her index finger the mark fell.  Jacques had just enough time to turn in surprise, the cigarette fell from his lips in surprise as her second bullet left the gun.  It sped through the air, as the cigarette past Jacques’ chin and neck, entering the back of his skull as the cigarette fell passed his waist.  Jacques lunged forward, tumbling to the ground, knees connecting to the earth as the cigarette fell steadily, now only a foot from the ground. The dead eyes of Jacques slammed into the underbrush at the same time as the cigarette hit the damp ground and dimmed.

 

She clucked her tongue.   _ Fuck.  I thought he’d beat the cigarette.  Well, work faster next time. _  She turned, tucked her rifle over her shoulder and began her trek back to her car.  Walking steadily but not too fast, she knew that this would not be investigated that diligently... _ who the fuck would care that two drug dealers were shot? Cops should throw a fucking parade over these deaths. _  Primarily this was her work.  Killing the bad guys that had fucked up for other, badder, bad guys.

 

Walking back to the car she almost made it when the dumbest of dumb luck bit her.  Literally. The pain in her left ankle seared at the first clamp of the mechanical animal’s jaw.  Screaming she turned and spotted the ancient beartrap latched onto her foot, reacting more than thinking she sat on the ground, prying the jaws open and freeing her foot.  She knew her ankle had broken, the blood was seeping out of the wound. The metal of the cage looked older than she, and rusted with exposure.

 

_ Shit.  24 hours.  Could I ignore this for 24 hours?  Then how do I explain the injury? _ She hopped to her car, gunned the engine and drove cautiously.  It would be the last thing she wanted to invite some cop into this narrative.  In all of her career, she had yet to kill a real person. Just dopers, pimps, other assassins, but never a cop.  Never the innocent.

 

Down the street, she could see the glow of lights into the woods.  A house. Could she get help there. Her thoughts were starting to cloud over and her vision blurring as she pulled into the driveway.  The porch light went on, and as a figure emerged from the door, she thought of her rifle in the backseat…

  
  
  


 

“So that was a nasty break.  I set it as best I could, and you’ll not suffer infection.  But you have to rest here for a while.” The voice drifted above her. She felt warm, could smell fire from a peat stove, and coffee...strong coffee.

 

“What…”  She tried to sit up, but felt hands gentle push her back down.

 

“Nope, just rest.  Answers and questions later.”  She drifted back down, hearing a chuckle as she fell back to sleep, “Now, ain’t this just like that Stephen King novel?”

 

_ Stephen King… _

  
  
  


 

“Beatrix.  Now that’s a name you don’t hear often.  I’m Delores.” The woman handed her a mug of coffee.  “Not sure how you took it, so I made it regular...which means two sugars and milk up here.”  She smiled at her own joke.

 

Beatrix took the coffee, drinking it down and smiling back.   _ Damn good coffee.  Marks for that. _  She looked down at her ankle, wrapped up tight, almost too tight but she could appreciate the need for it.   _ Damn good nursing.  More marks for you, Delores. _

 

“Now, I don’t ask people why they have sniper rifles in their cars often.  But they usually don’t fall into my lap in the middle of the night either. You some kinda Russian hitman or something?”  Delores watched the eyes of her guest widen, “You talk in your sleep. And it wasn’t English.”

 

Beatrix’s eyes immediately began assessing the room, looking for a phone line, anything that would allow this woman to call out for help.

 

“If you’re wondering if I’ve told anyone, then the answer’s no.  Maine folks tend to keep to their own business. And I’m a down-Easter tried and true.”  She raised her coffee cup to her lips, then rose to go to her stove. “Got eggs and bacon on, you hungry?”

 

“Yes.”  Beatrix could feel the honesty in this woman.  For two weeks, she stayed with her. Living her life, watching as she chopped wood, knitted, hummed softly as she cooked or cleaned.  It was a modest life, decent. She even grew courageous enough to go into town with Delores, was introduced as her cousin from Montreal, who “doesn’t speak good English so just leave her be.”  Delores’ friends all took the hint, smiled politely and offered her coffee cake and privacy.

 

She left in the middle of the night, sneaking out without a word of thank you or goodbye.  Her drive back to Quebec to collect for the mark was silent, giving her plenty of time to think.  She was 45. Her parents were dead, well probably. She had no children, was never interested in a relationship.  Plenty of money, but not enough to live in a city...but plenty to start up as some divorced woman...maybe running away from a POS husband and a high-pressure job.  Could keep garden, catch rabbits.  _ I could even take the occasional hit just to stay in the game. _

 

That’s why she broke her first and most important rule.   _ Don’t take jobs on innocents. _  At first she thought it was just intel gathering.  Then she started figuring out the long-game on this.  Kidnap and transport. She didn’t like that. A hit was one thing, clean, easy, get in-get out.  But to take someone…to move them. That was something entirely different.

 

And with each rule break came another afterwards…

  
  
  


 

“We’ve established a contact.  I have his schedule and routines mapped out. That was easy.  What I’m working on is creating gaps in his coverage.” She explained into the phone.  Her employer, that little man insisted on being called Pahkan, wanted a progress report almost daily.

 

“I’m not paying you to fucking take photographs!”  The screech down the line was horrifying. Not that she was afraid of this man, but of how unstable he was.  A Pahkan was a ruthless leader, able to kill happily, but he was never out of his own control. This man, was never under his own control.

 

“Sir…”

 

“Pahkan!”

 

She breathed in slowly, letting it out in a controlled hiss.  “Pahkan. This boy you sent us after,” she emphasized boy, hoping he would hear the insult.  “He’s got Yakuza on his every step. They are obviously loyal to him, not just as Katsuki’s lover but for his own value.  They adore him.”

 

“Once he starts falling apart Katsuki will drop him.  That’s what I want you to start creating. You must break him.  Get him isolated, and start planting the items I sent you. You did get them?”  His voice had turned almost gleeful, and she felt a chill run over her body.

 

Beatrix’s eyes turned to the box, something distasteful churned in her stomach.  “I received the items. All at once or in installments?”

 

“All at once.  I will send more if this doesn’t send him running back.”  The phone went dead as he disconnected.

 

_ He’ll run, alright.  But not to you. _

  
  
  


 

Getting into the registrar’s office was easy.   _ Universities have no security whatsoever. _  She never stopped to marvel at America.  Schools everywhere but no thinking going on.  Inside was the woman’s computer setup. Beatrix sat at the desk and tapped the keyboard to the laptop, the screen sprung to life, asking for a password.

 

She thinned her lips and looked around the desk, three pictures of the happy, slightly chubby woman and her dog.  On the bookcase to her left, four more pictures of her dog in differing outfits, all with the chubby, bubbling registrar smiling delightedly.  Rising, she walked to the bookcase, one of the frames was one of those DIY crafts monstrosities. Wood puzzle pieces interlocking in childish colors, with the doggy’s name in block letters at the bottom.  Beatrix rolled her eyes.

 

“Why not just make the password 1234?”  She sat down and typed it in.  _ Boomer. _  The screen opened to the laptop.  She was easily able to bring up the program for schedules and call up Phichit Chulanot.  Transferring him from a day class into a night class under the guise of over-enrollment.

 

Tuesday nights are now free.  Katsuki’s schedule she wouldn’t touch. That would be too obvious.  She closed out the program, looked at the desk to ensure everything was as she left it and made her way to the security office.  There were cameras all over the building but avoiding them was too simple. She wanted to disable the system entirely. In the basement she found the office, empty and guarded by no one.  Entering she saw a series of monitors that looked like they dated from the Soviet era each displaying grainy quality of images. She wound back the data, finding herself and erasing it.

 

Smirking she left and returned to the apartment.

  
  
  


 

“I swear, I didn’t think I’d get caught!”  Billy rose from his seat but the other one was there as well.  He pushed the boy into chair and approached her immediately. She didn’t like this one at all.

 

“Fuckhead here got tagged.”

 

She rose her hands, “What happened?  Slowly, and I don’t want to hear from you.”  She pointed directly at the nastier one.

 

Billy sucked in his breath.  “I saw they were going for a walk, some like nature thing.  So I thought I’d follow them. You know, try to get more on them.”

 

She sighed, and rubbed her forehead.  “My instructions were…”

 

“I know and I’m sorry.  But after you left that guy called, and he was yelling like crazy about how we need to get Viktor with more guys...something about him being a slut...I dunno…”   
  


“You answered my phone?”  She spun on him, but stopped quickly. The boy was ghostly white.

 

“He called me.”

 

_ Shit… this is going all directions of wrong. _

 

“Okay, so you followed them.  Under order of the Pahkan,” she glared at Thomas, watching him sulk under the news.

 

“So we left campus and went up some big hill or something.  Viktor with his boyfriend and a couple of those scary guys they have for bodyguards.  I thought there were only two but there were four. I was doing good, got a lot of footage, but then I got too close and they heard me.  So I took off. They chased me but I was able to get away. I don’t think they saw me…”

 

“It wasn’t there, you idiot!”  Thomas rose from his seat and crossed the room.  “This fucking moron goes back to their apartment building and takes picture of their windows at night from the park.  In clear sight of anyone.”

 

“They didn’t see me.  I keep telling you that.”  Billy looked from Thomas to Beatrix.  “Phichit and one of the guards…”

 

“Which one?”  Beatrix interrupted.

 

Billy stepped back, “Well, I don’t know.  How am I supposed to know, they all look alike.”

 

Beatrix shut her eyes... _ and this was why I always hire my own people. _

 

“They came out to walk the dogs and then Phichit just started playing with his phone.”  Billy looked triumphant, casting a challenging look at Thomas.

 

Thomas thinned his lips, tossing his phone to the boy in question, “Show her, dummy.  Show her what it looked like.”

 

Beatrix watched as the boy raised the phone to his eye level and pointed it right at them.     
“You’ve been made, and photographed.”  She began to run through scenarios of how to salvage this.   _ Could they spin it so that it looks like it was just him.  Or maybe he’s a crazed fan? _

 

“What are you going to do about this?”  Thomas shouted at her.

 

_ This is also why I always hire my own people. _  “We can still fix this.  Billy come here.” She put on her gentle voice, waving Thomas away and putting an arm around Billy.  “This can still work out, okay?” She smiled at him, watching his body relax. Slowly she put a hand on each shoulder, calming him more to her gentle touch.  Her arms quickly snaked around his neck and locked him in a sleeper hold.

 

Billy gasped at air that couldn’t come.  Flailing his body and arms, trying desperately to get free as she choked him, waiting for the fight to end.  Slowly the boy stopped moving, weakening, one last surge broke free and then he was gone. Nothing.

 

She bent at the knee, lowering him to the floor.  Then noticed Thomas standing there. A little of the self-assured shit-eating grin erased.   _ Good. _  “Get rope.  We have to make this look like a suicide.”

 

“You are a fucking badass!”  Thomas smiled and gave her a thumbs up as he moved into the other room for the item.

 

“Not for much longer.”  She looked down at the body.   _ No innocents. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beatrix really has to rethink this particular job and her coworkers...er...singular...coworker. She is ordered to turn up the heat on Viktor's situation, really pushing his hold on safety. But will she step into the notice of others?


	13. From Russia, With Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail is clearly unraveling and his "army" is rapidly dissolving in front of him, however, it's only his obsession on Viktor that can keep his focus. Across the pond his spies work to keep a sharp eye on the silver haired man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Den and Mags for keeping me writing. The school year is finally over and the heat settled in here in the beautiful New England...which is driving me nuts.

**St. Petersburg, Russia**

 

“I don’t care what the danger is.  I’ve sent it to you, now I want it placed where I fucking told you!”  Mikhail slammed the phone down unsettling the entirety of his desk. Papers were piled up, half drained cups of coffee ranging from liquid to congealed gunge cluttered the surface.  Some spilled out, running their slime across the already stained top.

 

Mikhail could see nothing in front of him.  His eyes saw only the memory of his perfect little boy in the arms of that Japanese pig.  He saw the pictures that his spy had sent, Vitya walking around on campus with that pig touching him, pawing at him.  Vitya accepting those caresses and allowing the mouth on his. Mikhail gripped the desk, the wood groaning under the pressure of his hold.  He thought of the glowing white skin, the silken hair…  _ you cut it all off, my leash to guide you… _  all dirtied now by the touch of that pig.   _ I’ll get you back, and make you clean again.  I’ll carve angel’s wings into your skin until no one will touch you... _

 

“Boss…”  A voice from what sounded like five hundred feet away called out to him.

 

The shadow in the corner of the room moved out and crept along the wall, filling the space with chilled air.  The man standing in the doorway saw none of the motion but felt the air change as he stepped forward. Two days, two long days Volkov was in this room, not eating or drinking. Just sitting in here talking to...himself.

 

“Boss…”  Mikhail felt the chilly fingers touch his cheek, calling him out of his own torments and focusing him on the man at the door.

 

“Pahkan!”  Volkov corrected.  “It’s Pahkan, and what?”

 

The man, the newest second kapo, pursed his lips and looked as if he were biting back a retort.  “The men, there are fewer today.”

 

“What do you mean?”  Mikhail rose and strode past the man…  _ who was this one… Lev?  Alexis? Did it matter? _  There before him was the warehouse they were using as the current base for setting up his empire and it was empty.  Opened boxes drained of their contents, no entries in the ledgers, a few men standing around with their hands in their pockets.  “What the hell is this?”

 

“This is what I’ve been trying to talk to you about for the better part of a week!”  The man,  _ Alexis, this one is Alexis _ …snapped.  He took a step back, and took a calming breath.  “The men we hired for the shipment came in, they vultured through the goods, skimmed more than normal, the kapos watched, then stole more.  Now we are left with the ones too stupid to even steal.”

 

Mikhail grimaced.  He looked around at the unfamiliar faces of the men.  They were all either too old or too young, pitifully out of shape or skinnier than his Vitenka.  Not one of them was worth the cheap clothing on their backs.

 

“Boss,” he began again then rerouted with the glare from the other man. “Pahkan...the men need leadership. We need you to tell us what we’re doing.”  He took a step towards Mikhail, lowering his voice, “there’s talk, from Moscow that an older family is looking to establish their power. I fear the men are leaving, getting ready for a shift…”

 

Mikhail put a hand on his shoulder stopping him.  “I know.” He spoke softly, “I have been distracted and I apologize.  I forgot the reason for all of this.” He pulled the man in for a tight hug, Alexis... _ or maybe it’s Lev... _ never felt the quick shift of the blade in his ribs until it pierced his lung.  “The only thing that matters is Vitya.”

 

The man staggered back, blood quickly pooling at his feet as he attempted to call out.  A few of the men noticing the scuffle rose silently and started fo the doors. Mikhail pulled out his Walther PPK and aimed without looking, taking two in the head.  One man, a boy really of only 15, would swear later to his mother that a black shadow man guided the hand as the bullets whipped around the room. He luckily had been standing by the door waiting to leave with a copy of  _ Alice in Wonderland _ for his sister. The first shot turned his head, the second set his heels in motion.

  
  
  


**Detroit, Michigan, U.S.A.**

 

Beatrix rubbed her temple, sighing in irritation.  “Now, how the fuck am I to do this?”

 

“What...I can do it!”  The boy ran over to her.

 

_ Eager little bitch aren’t you? _  She sighed, “I should let you do this. Then you could be killed and I wouldn’t have to listen to your foolishness any longer.”

 

He frowned, “So what’s the job that’s so fucking special only you can do it?  What are you like Tom Cruise now?”

 

She furrowed her brow at him…

 

“ _ Mission Impossible _ ?  Movies, Netflix?  Any of that ring a bell?”

 

“No.”   _ Why the fuck am I babysitting you? _

 

“Okay, so what’s the job, Ocean’s 65?”

 

She smiled at him,  _ I will absolutely put a bullet in your skull at the end of this. _  “I’m to plant something in their apartment by the end of today.”

 

He rocked back on his heels.  “Well, that shouldn’t be too hard.”  She watched as the wheels in his head turned and he slowly realized it would be easier to place fake art in the Met.  “Well, what is it, anyway?”

 

She smiled,  _ first intelligent question you’ve ever asked. _  “This,” she held up the stuffed bunny, handing it over to him.  “Take it.”

 

The boy took it, his eyes narrowed in confusion, “It feels heavier than it looks.”

 

“There’s hope for you, yet.”  She stood up and walked over to the table they kept the layout of the apartment building on as well as the timetable of everyone in the building, right down to the boring middle aged couple that enjoyed swing dancing living the floor underneath the mark.  “There’s a camera in it... Well, I suspect there’s a camera in it. Look at the stitching on the back.” She waited for him to flip it over.

 

“It looks fine to me.”  He followed her to the table.

 

“Yeah, that’s problem.”  She took the bunny and ran a fingernail down the backseam of the stuffed animal.  “Notice how tight the stitching is here. But look at the feet and arms,” she showed the side of the stuffed toy, “and you’ll see that the stitching is cheap and quick.”

 

He smiled and nodded, “This is too good.”

 

“Exactly.  Volkov bought this, probably at some dollar store, brought it to one of his warehouses, had one of the women working for their knock-off manufacturers take the backseam out, install the camera and sew it back up.”  She plunked it down, “the only mistake she made was it was too good.”

 

“So, that thing...it’s transmitting us right now?” He stood back and waved at the bunny.

 

She watched him make a couple of motions like a youtuber at the bunny before knocking it over.  “No. That’s the other half of the job. I plant this, and I set up a transmission. He wants to see inside the apartment.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Honestly, I don’t want to know…”

 

His eyes widened and he made a face.  “Oh, gross! You think he’s like watching them fuck?”

 

She sighed again, “The man who hired you, and me, I don’t know how stable he is.  But until the checks bounce or stop coming, we do the job.”

 

“What is the end game of this?”  The boy sat down at the table and began to straighten the bunny again.

 

_ Two intelligent questions in one day, I do believe in miracles. _  “Honestly, I don’t know.  I’ve never really asked that before but then, I’ve never worked a job like this before.”

 

He studied her for a moment, “What is it that you usually do?”

 

“Sometimes I watch people, report back, set up a schedule for a cleaner.  Sometimes I am the cleaner.”

 

“Do you think we’re here to kill this guy?”

 

“No, we’d have done that way before this.”  She walked around to the other side of the table.  “I think we’re here to kidnap him.”

 

The boy looked up, his eyes wide and his youth showing fearfully.  “I don’t want any part of that.”

 

“Neither do...neither  _ did _ I. But the man who pays us is part of something much larger. And to say  _ no _ to such a man is a bad idea.”

 

“Can we just walk away…”

 

She smirked at him, silencing the boy’s request.   _ You mean can you just walk away? _  “No.  Run, I’ll find you, and I’ll kill you.”

 

He slumped back in his chair.  “So how are you planning to get this in there?”

 

“Damned if I know, but in it must go.”

  
  
  


Cleaning ladies come and go, no one ever looks at them.  Agatha Christie mentioned this in her novel  _ Bertram’s Hotel _ .  Women notice these things, men tend not to.  Which is why Beatrix waited for the sharp-eyed woman on the team to follow the silver hair to the library late one night.  Then she was able to get into the apartment directly underneath the mark.

 

The middle aged couple were so happily married Beatrix worried about vomiting.  No children, two cats, home full of knick-knacks. It was Tuesday and Tuesdays meant swing dancing at the VFW, regular as clockwork they were out and Beatrix was in.

 

She opened the bedroom window and looked out to the courtyard.  There were a few lights on across the way. While Beatrix was something of an American movie fan, she had never seen  _ Rear Window _ .  It never dawned on her that anyone would bother to watch…

 

The angle from the window to the next floor was difficult, but thankfully Americans loved their fire escapes.  She was able to hoist herself up to the bedroom window of their roommate. He was a little laxed in his security, not as strict as the raven haired man, but not as flighty as the silver haired boy.

 

The window slid open easily as she turned the lock from outside.  A hamster ran on the wheel, startling her, she froze in a moment of panic.  If found, she would be shipped right to Japan to stand before the old man of the Yakuza...and she had no intention of ever meeting him, or his fearful granddaughter.  Listening at the door, she could hear two voices from the living room and she held still. Silently cursing her luck that the Thai man would be in the apartment when this was usually his night to go to the hockey player’s dorm room.  She crouched, waiting to see if there would be a break in their activity. Straining her ears, she could hear the exhaustion in their voices, a movie was playing in the background soft and low.

 

She waited patiently, listening to the hamster run on the wheel endlessly.   _ How does that boy sleep in this room? _  However, she realized that if the boy could sleep through this, there was a good chance she would be safe making it through the apartment.  About a half hour of waiting paid off when she caught the sound of light snoring coming from the other side of the door. The door opened silently and she peered out into the living room.  On the couch were the two boys, snuggled into one another, a quilt covering them. She caught the attention of the dog, coaxing him over to her. She produced a bag of bacon from her back pocket, giving the dog a smell.  Wary at first, the friendly pooch was soon happily eating and licking her fingers.

 

Walking backwards to the bathroom, she allowed the dog to follow her into the space and put the rest of the treats on the floor.  Occupied Makka was blissfully unaware of the door closing behind him. Beatrix then focused on her task. She found her way to the shared bedroom of her mark easily.

 

She looked around the room, the bunnies were placed on a shelf.  It would have to blend in but be able to collect a view of the room.  She grimaced,  _ it’s the bed he wants to see, let’s be honest.  The sick fucker wants to watch them in their most intimate moments. _  The mirror above the bureau was wide, and the bunny, placed behind the row of favorites caught it squarely.

 

Opening the app on her phone she was able to pick up the image of the room, waving across the face to ensure it was working in real time.  She could see the reflected image of the bed easily. She flicked an irritated glance at the mirror and shut the app down.

 

“Dev,” a drowsy voice called out in his sleep.  The Thai man was not a sleep talker, this was outside her research and she froze in horror.  It never went well when things deviated from plans. “Dev, let’s get golf shoes and ice cream…”  She narrowed her eyes, listening to the nonsense the man babbled softly in his sleep.

 

The Thai man talked softly in his sleep until the other shushed him from his own sleep.  Beatrix resigned herself to waiting in the room until it was safe to assume they were both deep asleep once again.  Silently she moved into a dark corner, shivering at the cold she felt there. Crouching and waiting as the two men kissed and settled back down.  The noises dissipated and she finally heard soft snores resume.

 

Crossing the room she felt the room warm as soon as she moved out of the corner.  That caught her attention, and she put a puzzled hand into the darkness again, feeling the definite chill of the air concentrated there.

 

_ There’s no air circulation to cause this… Fuck it, move. _

 

She checked the two sleeping heads on the couch once more.  The quilt had fallen from the little Thai boy. Something in her heart stirred.  She knew what was going to happen to the lovely little silver haired boy. Her employer would get his hands into him and the remainder of his life, however long that might be, would be torment.  But this boy she could spare a kindness.

 

Tenderly she tucked the quilt back in to their chests, listening to the hockey player hum in happiness as his nose nuzzled the dark hair of his love. She looked at them both, they were a lovely couple.  Just as adorable as the silver haired boy and his Yuuri.  _ I hope it works out for you. _


	14. Insensed Sensibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Den for her diligent work last night helping me pull this together. I have no idea WHY this chapter was so slow in the process but it was. I think because we're coming to the end of this joint fic and I'm sad to see it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail has survived the downfall of his family, the loss of all his power and most of his sanity, and is now living in sewers in safe houses, plotting his final revenge against Yuuri and Victor.

Mikhail sat in the dank, dark tunnel.  He paid no attention to the stench, to the human filth rushing past his ankles, flooding his cheap shoes, soaking into the fabric of his socks and pants.  His mind was focused on one singular task.

 

_ I have to get him back.  If I can get him back, I can claim everything again. _

 

The thing that haunted his steps, the black, bloody thing that commanded the men in his family was with him.  It was always there. It knew the danger that they both were in. Had the death of Mikhail meant that it would simply float to the next Volkov heir, then this horrible creature would have left Mikhail to meet his fate at the end of a knife, or the slam of a bullet.  However, there were precious few men of that family left...and worse the time was growing close in which one of them would face this down. Ending this. Ending the demon, and it would return to hell.

 

_ No.  We’re not going there. _

 

The thought came from both sources, completely in sync with each other.  The demon and Mikhail understood one another, filled and breathed together.

 

Before the police had stormed the warehouse, before the last of his men had deserted him, before the wolves of Moscow had descended on the town, he fled.  Mikhail had known, feeling it coming from days away. Smartly he had taken the money out of his accounts, liquidating what he could to cash and leaving small caches in safe houses he had set up independently from his men.  Several had belonged to his father, uncles, and grandfathers. They were small apartments where the previous owners met the women, or men, they kept on the side. Now they housed Mikhail’s dwindling supplies...and the thing that had chased them, and now held him.

 

He had a few articles of clothing stashed in the small rooms, and several burner phones.  There were small stashes of weapons for him to pick from and use. But what he had made certain to take with him were the knives, those beauties that had called out to him.  He would kill that pig, take back Victor and carve his final love letter into that perfect skin before taking both their lives. The black myst that followed his every step was pleased with this, and Mikhail was happy they were in agreement.

 

Yuuri would be slaughtered.  Victor would be purified. Together they would go to Him.

  
  
  


Mikhail sat looking at the knives, somehow catching the few bits of light that managed to find their ways into the tunnel, like little children that got lost and now played hide and seek amongst the refuse of a city.  He had smuggled a few electronics with him.  _ All the better to stalk you with. _  He seethed thinking of Victor, settling into the arms that fat pig that dared to touch him.  He could understand Victor, turning to the man. He was older, wealthy, probably promised Vitya any little toy his heart desired.  And Katsuki was lazy, allowed Victor to fatten, cut his hair.

 

“When I get you back, I’ll carve a trail of hair down your back.”  Mikhail took out one of the slimmest knives, shimmering in the light, and ran his finger down the edge.  His breath caught as the blade bit into his flesh.

 

To his side the monster burst with a dark puff next to him. The empty eyes glimmered for a moment as Mikhail’s blood rested on the tip of his finger.  Two misted hands moved across the distance, growing thicker, more real, as they approached Mikhail’s small wounds. Barely transparent fingers closed around his hand a moment too late as Mikhail sucked the blood clean from the small wound.  He turned his eyes to the mist, watching it shrink back into the darkness they sat in together.

 

“You’ll feed on him first, then you can have me.”

 

Two weeks earlier he had received the footage she sent back.  Victor’s slender back, his chest, expanded out, sweat glistening over his whole form as he took that fucking pig.  The kisses, the tenderness of all of it was disgusting to him. Seeing it sent him into a rage, throwing the iPad across the room.  The screen glitched, but remained on, playing the love making, the smile on Vitya’s face… something Mikhail had never seen, not even that first time when he was nice.

 

Now he sat, that scene playing in his mind over and over again.  Like a bad memory he couldn’t chase away. That smile, the way his eyes closed as he came, the way Katsuki had held onto him afterwards, all ran asynchronous to his thoughts.  Mikhail felt the little he had eaten that morning rising up. Bending over he emptied the contents of his stomach next to him. The filth from his stomach mixing with the refuse scurrying past his feet.  A rat blinked at him from the other side of the tunnel, then ran off, following the flow of the water.

 

Above him the world had grown dark and Mikhail knew he could move.  Hauling himself up, he trudged through the foul water towards the entrance.  A small camp of homeless people were installed there, having started a fire for warmth.  He approached the small group, many moving away from the first as he came closer. Two remained nearby, an older man and woman.  The man kept his eyes on the fire, the woman’s eyes went right to the thing that Mikhail brought with him.

 

“Young man.”  The older man cleared his throat.  His eyes pulled up to Mikhail’s face, he rubbed his hands over the fire.  “You are welcome to warm yourself, but you…” he indicated to the mist, “and that need to keep walking.”

 

The woman put her hand on the man’s coat, “Let’s go.  They can have the fire.”

 

“No.”  The head that shook was weathered by hard times, hair long and ragged.  “We can stay.” He hadn’t noticed the others had already slunk off into the shadows that hung around the city at night.  He hadn’t noticed the way the woman’s eyes never left the mist they both could see. He hadn’t noticed the flash of the razor as it left Mikhail’s pocket.  He felt the slash against his throat only seconds after it occurred, the blood spurting out as the jugular was lanced. The woman’s screams as she was pounced on, strangled silent.

 

Mikhail stood, warming his blood soaked hands over the fire.  The old man’s coat wrapped tightly around his body now. The boots on his feet.  The thing appeased for the moment with the blood feed but not satisfied, needing Volkov blood.

  
  
  


He took a long soak in the tub of the safehouse that morning.  Mikhail knew he could use this as a rest stop for two days at the most.  But he would need to be on the move. The last he had heard from his spy before she went dark was that they were moving to Japan…

 

“That’s a fucking lie.”  Mikhail took a wash cloth, scrubbing his body clean.  The mist stood in the corner, his constant...and lone...companion these days.

 

“It would be smart to take him back to Japan, and that pig’s fucking stupid as shit.”  He stood, the water behind him filthy with the grime he had collected from the sewer. He pulled the plug and watched the dirt and blood circle the drain.

 

_ Where? _

 

“I don’t know.”  Mikhail’s eyes were trained on the swirl.  The center of the storm...the safest place in any storm…

 

_ You know. _

 

“I do.  Moscow. He took them to that skinny bitch.”

 

_ We have to go there. _

 

“No.”

 

The mist grew, covering the ceiling with its anger, the windows going black.  Mikhail didn’t even flinch, he had grown used to the fits thrown by this thing from hell.

 

“We’ll wait.”  He saw the mist was pulsing... _ pulsing... _ he looked down, his finger was bleeding again.  The blood floated up, slow small trickle of single blood drops floating upwards into the mist hanging above his head.  “They can move easily, but in China they won’t have that flexibility. We wait, and we will have him.”

 

Mikhail grew lightheaded, the finger was growing blue, the rest of his hand was ghostly pale.  Curling his finger into his palm, he fisted his hand. A single droplet of blood squeezed through the fingers, pulling up to the mist.  “That’s the last of me you’ll get.”

 

_ You can’t run from this. _

 

He moved to the mirror, examining the beard growing in on his face.  He pulled a razor out to shave, then catching the glimmer of hope in the thing’s presence he put it down.  “I have no intention of running. We will catch Vitya. I will be satisfied by him, then you can have us both.  Close this little deal out.”

 

The mist shuddered behind him.  Mikhail suddenly realized he had an advantage.

 

“You have no one after me.”

 

The silence was all the yes he needed.  This thing, this demon that managed to claw its way from hell to the surface world, was terrified at the aspect of returning.

  
  
  


Two days Mikhail sat in the small room.  He barely ate, drank only the oily water that came out of the tap.  Allowing the beard to grow in and his cheeks to hollow out his appearance began to change rapidly.  It was more than the beard filling in, and the skin of his face getting loose and falling around his jaw line.  His eyes had taken on a hollowed, hungry look. Like an aging wolf that knew his time had come and he watched over his shoulder for a younger cub to put the death bite into his neck.  But, much like that wolf, he held onto the rage he felt and used that to sharpen his teeth so that the one that would end his life would walk away maimed and weakened, and be killed in his turn.

 

All the time the mist refused to leave his side, becoming even more clingy in its horror.  It would pulse, turn cold, freeze the room, then settle in an area once it realized Mikhail would not be moved.

 

“We’ll not go to Moscow.”  He took out the knives he kept.  The beautiful box they lived in gleamed under the light of a dying sun.  He took out his favorite. It had a similar bone handle, as did the others, the blade was straight, slender and sunk into flesh easily.  He knew, as he had taken to feeding the mist with his own blood. He would slit a small opening in a finger, or thumb, or the meat of his palm.  Then sit back, and watch the blood drip up, as if being pulled into the swirling mist above his head. He knew that this was barely feeding a deathly hunger, but it was all he would give to keep the creature at his mercy.

 

“The scrawny bird has him locked in her fortress.  I’ve no doubt she is sitting in her nest, waiting...hoping I would do something that stupid.”  He sank down to the floor, his back against the beaten couch. “I’m surprised she hasn’t contacted you.”

 

The mist froze in its movement.  It had reached out to her. It had reached out to the old Japanese man.  It tried to reach out to the man’s granddaughter, but she gave nothing. That girl was closed off to the other world.  The elderly Japanese man had long turned death to workings of the other side.

 

_ She is closed to us. _

 

“Closed my ass.”  Mikhail took the beautiful antique box that housed the knives and smashed it to pieces on the floor.  He gathered them into a small pile and started the fire. He heard...felt...the painful screech from the thing swirling above him.

 

“She’s not closed.  She’s too fucking smart.”  He watched the pieces of the wood, slow to ignite, eventually turn black in the oddly green flame.  “She knows something that no one in my family ever understood. She knows something you don’t know and that makes no fucking sense when I consider where you’re from…”

 

He raised his eyes, watching the thing slow, lowering itself to the floor, the rage over.

 

“She knows that we all rise and fall.  And that isn’t controlled by anything here on earth...and it’s certainly not controlled by any of the shit in your realm either.  It’s not about control. We rise, we fall. Power is a liquid, like blood. It flows through us, and from us, and dries up.”

 

Mikhail frowned back down into the fire. The first Volkov man to understand something that had evaded the others.  But it was too damned late. He was on a path, and there was no deviation from this path.

  
  
  


Four days later Mikhail had talked his way onto a freighter ship headed for China.  He was fortunate that he was in a country with little concern for borders and headed to another country with even less concern.  As the ship pulled out, he dropped the remainder of the knives into the ocean, their shine lasting far longer than they should have, shimmering under the waves until the depths claimed them.  He had two items he needed, the knife that would claim Vitya as his, and the gun that would claim them both for the demon sworn to take them into their own depths. As the last knife fell to the dark water, Mikhail found himself suddenly horrified that Vitya would still shine out like that blade.  No darkness could counter that, diminish it. Pursing his lips, he would make sure that the boy would cry, beg for death, and then when they, together, plunged into their darkness, they would melt into that depth, gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is a Beatrix chapter in which the readers will decide her fate. Does she live or die? Comments will decide!


	15. The World Froze in Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail's well deserved demise.
> 
> ***** TRIGGER WARNING*****  
>  I want people to be aware that you will witness a murder in this chapter. It's not as gruesome as I could have made it and that's for the reason that Mikhail's death is faked to look like a suicide. I don't want anyone reading this to be hurt by what I write. So please, if this is a sensitive subject for you, just know that Mikhail's dead. You good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Den for reading this today and coordinating another co-post of chapters. I've loved this project and am happy that we have _Lies_ to work on to carry me on.

Mikhail sized up the men in the room with him.  They were slowly moving forward, trudging toward the food.  Today’s buffet was sandwiches, beans, milk, and despair. His body felt cold.  Not the powerful cold that he had grown to enjoy when in the presence of the mist, but a weakness, a sinking feeling in his body.

 

He knew his last name, while not as strong as it had been, still carried a great deal of weight.  His time in this prison would not be harsh, nor would it be long. The guards nodded to him while he waited in line, his fellow prisoners kept a respectful distance.  This time would be used wisely. He was clearer now, able to think about how he had squandered power and resources. Once he was out, and he  _ would  _ eventually get out, he would rebuild the Volkov empire.  His men would start small, running guns and drugs around the cities.  Then he would expand out, make a new alliance and attack that bitch in St. Petersburg.  Russia would never see her as a leader. Not some bird hiding behind an elderly Japanese man.

 

Behind him he heard a grumble, two low voices exchanging words he didn’t recognize.  The line lurched forward and Mikhail noticed a guard coming towards him.

 

“He survived.”  The guard’s whisper was barely audible but enough for Mikhail.

 

_ Vitenka.  My little boy _ .  Mikhail felt something in him grow hot.  The little angel was still alive, he had pulled through.  Hands turned to fists and Mikhail’s fingernails drew blood as they pressed into his palms.

 

He knew that meant two things.  He would not be here for long. A decade, less?  He would be out. And in that time he would watch his Vitya, watch as that pig gained weight and became more useless.  He would watch as Vitya soared over the ice like a spirit. And then, when he was released, he would take him back. Carving his love into every inch of his body.

 

Mikhail raised his hand, the guard came over.  “I want to see a picture of him.”  _ I want to see the scar, the hole that was meant for the pig. _

 

The guard shook his head. “They have that hospital under lock and key.”  The guard turned and joined the others at the end of the long dining room.  Mikhail missed the looks they gave him. He missed that they all looked at their watches and nodded.  He missed that the guard detail had been rotated out of his section for that evening. New guards, temporary guards were put in place.

 

His metal tray slid along the gunney as it was loaded up.  A plain sandwich of cheese and tomato sat unceremonious next to his cooked beans.  A container of orange juice perched in a corner with a scrawny apple for dessert.

 

He turned, facing into the dining hall.  Had he been a better reader as a child, or even a young man, he would have seen immediately the connection to Orwell’s  _ 1984 _ .  The drab, lifeless color of the clothing, mirrored in the drab, lifeless colors of people’s faces.  The slow, monotonous motion of raising food to the face, shoveling it into dead mouths, chewing without tasted, all done in some bizarre depressing unison.  Had Viktor been there to see this, his clever mind would have puzzled it out instantly, he would have burst into tears at the maddening numbness of the scene.  But, perhaps thankfully, Mikhail was never as smart as Viktor.

 

Sitting with a group of men he recognized casually, Mikhail examined his tray.  The juice from the beans had crept to his sandwich, sogging the bread. He poked at it and frowned.  The apple was tough, and biting into it he found it unreasonably disgusting. It tasted of ashes.

 

Mikhail spat the fruit onto his plate.  There was nothing wrong with the apple, not to the sight.  But the taste. Food had begun tasting like ash since he came to this place.  It had begun when he was arrested.

  
  
  


 

The crowd outside the stadium pushed forward as the popular couple exited the building.  Mikhail had hated this silly sport, but he had to admit that this was excessive. The guards that the pig had brought with him were easy to spot...as easy as the ones the she-wolf had sent in hopes of picking up his scent.

 

His eye burned out from his dirty face.  The filth itched at his skin, but he knew to leave it on.  No one wanted to look at the filthy poor of this city, and he blended in as one of the unseen homeless.  The uneven scruff he had grown over his face really change the dimensions and altered his looks so much that even the guards, who had his face memorized, would have no idea who this was.  The eyes however, those held true. The ruthless, cold eyes that were locked on the lithe form as he walked out of the double doors towards the waiting SUV.

 

The crowd cheered for the popular couple and Viktor turned to flash that glorious smile.  For a moment the mist lifted from Mikhail’s vision. Viktor looked as he really was. A grown man, strong, beautiful, and confident.  He was clearly happy, innocent but wise. Next to him, Yuuri’s smile broke into an expression of pure adoration and Mikhail saw it.

 

_ You worship him too. _  The colors of the world pulsed with light, the taste of blood cleared from his mouth and he wanted to turn from this scene.  He wanted to creep back into the shadows like the boogeyman from a child’s story, defeated by the love these two princes held for each other.

 

But the mist would have none of that.  Mikhail had one job, as the last of the Volkov men, as the last that the mist could claim.  He would kill the boy that the witch had born, kill the man the Japanese witch had protected.  And in doing so, he would kill the last hope of freeing the world from this evil.

 

Mikhail felt the cold seize him.  It grabbed hold of his throat, like ghostly, dark hands, tangling past his skin, through it.  Long tendrils sunk deep into his, down his throat, into his chest. Filling him with hate and slowly the colors bled from his view. The world dulled, the faces of the people around him grew featureless and dull.  The only light he saw was that of Viktor. Viktor’s beautify rang out in the lifeless world.

 

The gun was in his pocket, it was heavy now.  He rose from his crouched position, to his side he saw the planted guard notice him, but the mist was there.  The woman, little more than a girl, reached a hand out to stop Mikhail but the black mist was down her throat, choking her.  Her eyes rolled back into her head as she fell to the ground, dead before the impact. Around her a woman noticed, a man reached out to touch her cold skin and shouted for someone to help.  Mikhail stepped forward, the crowd surged behind him and forward, then it cleared and he had a perfect shot at the man who had soiled his perfect angel. He leveled the gun, taking aim at the heart of Yuuri Katsuki who never saw him.

 

The gun fired off, the bullet destined for that fat pig.  His beautiful white angel was standing by the thing’s side, their hands tangled in one another.  Mikhail felt the rush of the crowd around him, unconcerned for his freedom. Two guards were already moving in on him.  The bullet sailed through the air and his smile reached his lips just as the lithe form rushed in front of Yuuri. For a second the world stopped.  The air rushed out of his lungs. He watched the impact into the slim back, the breath release as the boy, man, exhaled into waiting arms. The world froze in motion.

 

The first guard reached him, knocking him to the ground, just as Viktor’s body slumped down to Katsuki’s feet, a trail of blood left behind on the suit the other wore.  Mikhail screamed out, but there was nothing in his shout, nothing in his body. The mist had left, betrayed and left him.

 

A second guard stomped his wrist, pulling the gun from his hand, and he was hauled up.  He was pulled away from the scene, shuffled toward a dark car when two uniformed police officers approached, demanding custody.

 

Softly spoken Russian was exchanged between the guards and an unseen party.  Mikhail smirked,  _ bitch, the Chinese aren’t letting me go.  They owe you nothing. _  Mikhail was turned over to their custody easily.  He was cuffed and shoved into the back, then taken away.  Behind him, the guards took out phones, sending pictures to the unseen partner.

 

He sat back in the chair.  A short stay in a foreign prison was nothing.  He still had his name, still carried power as a Volkov.  He would be out. And then he would make Katsuki pay... _ But Viktor is dead. _  His precious boy was gone.  He had watched the little form fall, saw the last breath spill from his body.

 

The sorrow turned to pure hate as the brown eyes of Katsuki came to his mind.  Mikhail’s rage erupted in the back of the car. He screamed out, kicking against the seats, throwing himself at the doors.  From the front the two officers shouted warning in Canton and broken English, to no avail. Then they pulled to the side, taking a taser out and shocking him into submission.  Mikhail didn’t settle, not after the first or second round. It wasn’t until he had lost the ability to control his bowels that he finally fell unconscious.

 

When he woke he was on the floor of a dirty sell, lying in his own filth.   _ Holding cell.  I’ll be here until the trial. _  Outside the cell, he saw a television, the news of Viktor’s assassination was running.  He watched as EMTs rushed the body into an ambulance, Yuuri being pulled into an SUV. The fat pig was in a daze, useless.  Mikhail snickered at the moron.

 

_ At least I took him from you.  At least I ruined that for you. _

 

He pulled himself to the bars and rose, “Hey, hey fucker.”

 

The guard watching television turned with a questioning look but didn’t reply.

 

“I want a change of clothes.  And food.” He rested his head against the bars, the cool of the metal calming the sweat on his brow.

 

The guard rose and approached.  He had a pair of prison issue scrubs.  Mikhail reached out a hand. With a nasty smirk the guard dropped them to the ground inches from the hand.  Turning, the man returned to the television.

 

_ That’s fine.  You’ll be the first one I have murdered. _  Mikhail pulled the clothing into the cell.  Using the sink he cleaned himself as well as he could, then changed.  A few hours later he was taken into a dining hall.

  
  
  


 

The dining hall, the lifeless lines of eating and drinking.  The silence, the unspoken rage and despair. Had Mikhail a soul, even a tenth of the soul Viktor possessed, he would have been horrified.  However, he was possessed entirely of ego and nothing more.

 

He looked around, assessing the room and the people in it.  The guards that could be bribed, the ones that would stay loyal.  The men whom he would turn into his army. He grabbed a tray and got his food.  Looking at the soggy sandwich.

  
  
  


 

That evening he laid back on his bed.  Viktor was alive. That was the only thought he could keep in his mind.  Viktor survived. It was meant to be. He would get another chance. He would would rebuild his empire, starting today.  He would get his men, claim his territory. He would kill that fucker Katsuki, along with his entire god damned family...starting with that fucking witch.  Then he would take back his Vitya.

 

Vitya. His skin soft and smooth under the touch.  He envisioned Viktor’s eyes, heavy lidded with lust, but still holding that glimmer of fear.  His little precious boy, always fighting his desires. Fighting what he knew he needed. But it was that fight that Mikhail found so tasty.  The way Vitya would squirm and fight, begging for punishment like a naughty child. He would get him back, and the training would begin again.  Perhaps, Vitya would help him find a replacement, someone younger, more supple. They could raise the boy, make him into a second Viktor… and then he would give Viktor up.

 

He was locked deep in that thought when the door to his cell opened.  The door slid with loud clanks, slamming against the casing. He looked up to see two guards entering the room.

 

“What do you assholes want?”

 

One raised his phone, took a picture and sent it.  The other guard remained by the door, peering out into the hallway.

 

“The fuck are you two doing?  Get the fuck out of here.” Mikhail sat, and moved to rise from his bed, but the hand of the guard was on his chest, pushing him down.

 

Mikhail bounced against the ancient springs of the cot.  He was shocked at the easy with which he went down. He was weak.  There was nothing to his body. Without the mist, without the demon that had empowered his family for generations, he began to see that he was nothing.

 

The phone pinged, and the guard nodded to the other then turned to Mikhail.  The phone was placed on the nightstand next to him and then the other guard moved in.  A ready made noose of bedsheets was strung up against the railing. Rough hands grabbed Mikhail, shoving him into the bars.

 

“Fuck…”  His voice was cut off as the large hand muzzled his mouth.  He felt the cartilage of his nose go under the pressure. The noose secured, the loop was placed over his head and tightened.  The second man grabbed him from behind and pulled down slowly.

 

Mikhail’s arms were stuck in the crushing bearhug of the man behind him.  He tried to kick out, but found his feet connecting with shins made of concrete.  Neither man made the slightest noise no matter how he fought.

 

The breath was leaving his body, the man behind him pulled down gently, Mikhail’s airway was completely cut off.  His face turned red, his eyes bulging out. The eyes of the man holding his mouth never left his, they were familiar.

 

“This is far better than you deserve.  If it were my choice, we would take you apart piece by piece.”

 

Mikhail’s ear rang and throbbed with blood desperately trying to leave his head.  A headache exploded in his temples. His vision turned red as the capillaries popped in his eyes, flooding them with blood.  He convulsed; he lost all control and his body thrashed out wildly at the last chance to fight for oxygen.

 

His lips parted as his eyes closed, “Vitya…” hissed out in a long guttural slur.

 

_ Vitya, just one last time… _

 

Mikhail’s wasted and empty life slipped from his body.  The two men remained in position until the timer on the phone chimed.  Ten minutes. Ten minutes without oxygen. Ten minutes strangled. They let his body sink into position, creating a picture of suicide from hanging.  They stripped the bed of the sheets, folding them tightly and placing them into their shirts. The second guard left the room, checking the hallway. He signaled to his compatriot and they exited.  He took one last picture and sent it again.

 

A message pinged back immediately.

 

**Eagle / Good job.  I have you cleared for departure at the main gate, two guards are waiting to take you to cars.**

 

He tucked his phone away and wiped his face.  The makeup fell away easily. The other guard followed suit.  While a white man would never see the difference of a Chinese person and a Japanese person, the Chinese would see the disguise easily.  They pulled into a closet, dropping the sheets into the laundry basket.

 

Outside there were two guards smiling at the deposits in their bank accounts that had just been updated.

 

The fake guard and his associate breezed past them without a word and into the waiting SUV.  The phone chimed again. Pulling it out he grimaced at the message.

 

**Eagle / Did he say anything in the end?**

 

The man knew the torment that this piece of shit had caused this woman.  She was stronger than anyone he had ever known, even the love of his life.  But did she need this? He closed his eyes and lied.

 

**Akio / Nothing.**

  
  
  


 

Miles away in Russia she pursed her lips and placed the phone, face down on the table in front of her.

 

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're thinking... wait, what about Beatrix... I ain't done yet.


	16. The Beatrix Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beatrix manages to escape capture by giving up that twit Mikhail had hired. She lives a quiet and good life in Maine, becoming friends with the locals, running an inn, and being a supportive and wonderful woman. However, eventually, all accounts must be closed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very special thank you to Den for letting me tell this part of the narration. I've loved working with another writer creating a story from two ends and this was a real treat to work with a close friend whom I admire so much.
> 
> Another thank you to Mags for the tireless support of editing and offering help and support on this narrative.
> 
> And a final thank you to the readers who supported this fic and this alternate narration to GY.

_ After getting that fucking kid arrested by Yuuri’s men I left town. _

 

Beatrix had allowed that miserable little annoyance to assume more and more power of this ridiculous, and no longer financially beneficial plan.  He had wanted to get closer, to “shake that pale fucker up” so she let him.

 

Convincing him to dress in her clothes was difficult but worth it.   _ People never suspect women,  _ she had said.   _ People seldom even notice us when we dress plain, _ she had said.  However, he held out.  His bizarre insecurity keeping him from putting on an overcoat and kerchief to blend into one of the hundreds of old Yentas wondering the streets of that city.  But Beatrix knew where to hit the hardest.

 

“It’s just that, a strong young man like yourself,” she dropped her lids and faked a blush.  “Well, you’re so handsome, you really do stand out.”

 

He puffed up immediately.  That weird thing American boys do to make themselves bigger...chickens do that as well.  She smirked as he even applied rogue and lipstick and watched him leave. What he didn’t know was she had planned this extremely well.

 

A week after they had caught her trail she went completely dark.  Staying inside and not risking anything. She had bled the accounts dry and contacted Mikhail for one last supply.  When that call went unanswered she assumed, correctly, that power had shifted in St. Petersburg and she no longer needed to worry about this ridiculous waste of time.  She looked at the picture of Viktor, it was taken at the rink in Detroit. He was bent into a beautiful position. Beatrix wouldn’t have known that it was a lay-back spin, or that Viktor was one of the few male skaters to include something that required strength and balance.  However, she could recognize the beauty in his little form, the arch of his back, and the look on his face.  _ Purity. _

 

She took the picture with her, tucking it into the G.O.O.D. bag she had kept hidden from that idiot who was on his way to get arrested. She had filled him with just enough incorrect information about herself, and as much correct information about the man they worked for, to keep the wolves at bay long enough for her to leave.

 

_ Maine.  Mount Desert Island. _

 

The unmarked car sat in the lot where she had left it with a full tank of gas and the rest of her supplies.  She was leaving behind a great deal of her own items, wanting to make it look like she fled at the last minute.  However, her money had already been stored in several accounts, all ready to be emptied as she made her way across this country.

 

Checking her watch she surmised that he had been nabbed by Akio and his men, perhaps that clever woman Kimiko was interrogating him as she turned over the engine.  He would spill everything right away. She knew they were looking to catch her, and she happily offered up that useless boy Mikhail had hired. Sending him out as the token fish.  They would throw him into a car, drive him somewhere and being asking questions.

 

Beatrix turned on the radio, classical music filling the car as she thought of how the boy had probably pissed himself by now and was giving them every bit of information he knew.

 

_ They won’t kill you.  They’ll turn you into the police once they know enough. _

 

She shuddered thinking of how that boy would fare in prison…

 

“Not my concern.”  She turned up the channel, letting her thoughts get drowned out by the rapid music of Vivaldi’s  _ Winter _ .

  
  
  


 

“Her name is Roberta Paulsen. She’s from Brazil and I can take you to where we were staying.  I want to help.” Snot was falling freely down his face. The SUV was driving moderately through midtown traffic to the intimidating warehouse they had chosen.

 

Kimiko turned to the driver, speaking Japanese, “Go to the address this one gives you.”  Then her nose caught the scent. She grimaced looking at the dampness growing on the young man’s pants.  “And let’s see about getting a change of clothing.”

 

Two of the guards holding him shuffled away to keep themselves clean.  Kimiko changed up her approach, “Roberta Paulsen?”

 

“Yeah, her name was Roberta Paulsen.” The boy repeated, almost like a mantra.

 

She smiled, finally catching the reference.   _ His name is Robert Paulsen, the space monkeys chanted. _

 

They arrived at the apartment, taking the boy in with them.  Akio looked at the signs of distress in the room, but was able to see through the subterfuge.

 

“She set it up to look like a quick departure,” he watched as Kimiko nodded in agreement.  Turning to the boy, he tossed a pair of pants at him, “Change. Looks like you’ve been abandoned.”

 

“None of this was my idea.  She made me put the book in his bag.”  His voice had turned to whines. Sheepishly he looked around at the men, a beg for privacy died on his lips and he changed as best he could in the room.

 

“Okay, so who was she working for?”

 

“Some big Russian mafia dude.  Volkov. He hired me through Craigslist…”

 

Akio held up his hand, silencing the man.  “Excuse me?”

 

He stood still for a moment, the rest of the room had turned to look at him.  “Craigslist, it’s a website…”

 

“I  _ know _ what is it.”  Akio rubbed his temples.   _ This was a bad plan run entirely by idiots.  It’s amazing they managed to identify Viktor from Yuuri. _  But then he remembered the world in which they all lived,  _ idiots are all the more dangerous. _  “Okay, how did you contact each other?”

 

The boy reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a burner phone.  “All the messages are on this. I talked him a lot more than Roberta did.  He trusted me more. A few days ago he told me he had to go underground, but he was going to send me instructions soon.”

 

Akio opened the phone, scrolling through the messages.  Mikhail’s grasp on sanity got looser as they approached today’s date.  As he looked through the phone, remembering to have one of his men later try to find a means of using it to track Mikhail, the rest of the team tossed the room.  But there was nothing of Beatrix left behind. Because nothing of Beatrix had ever made it into the room in the first place. She had carefully kept herself and her identity separate from this job.

 

Kimiko approached, making sure to speak in Japanese, “There’s really nothing here for us.  But the police will be able to make a stalking and assault case against him.”

 

Akio responded in English, “Call it in and leave him here with two guards.  Make sure they have paperwork to prove a lawful arrest and detention. The cops can handle this from here.”

 

“Hey, yo, hey.”  The boy went to approach them, but stopped in his tracks with merely a look from Kimiko.  “So, you don’t need to call the cops. Swear. I’ll leave that guy alone.” He saw they were unmoved, “Honest.  I’m out. It was job. Just a job, I swear. In fact, I can help you.”

 

Kimiko couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up her throat.  She had to turn to the window and walk away from the conversation.  Akio understood her laughter, but this was not a funny situation. This boy would have hurt, possibly killed Viktor or Yuuri had he been given the order.  “You can help us? How? You got ditched by your boss, your primary target outwitted you with the help of his classmates. You don’t even know the name of your XO on this and...you pissed yourself.”  Akio blinked slowly, “Hou pissed yourself in the back of my car.”

 

The boy blinked, opened his mouth to argue, but closed it.  Akio nodded, “First smart thing you’ve done in a while.”

 

Two guards remained stationed at the door as Kimiko and Akio pulled out to report back to Yuuri, but first he called Mari.

 

“Tell me you got her.”

 

Akio smiled, the love of his life wasted no words.  “No. We got the boy, and he gave up Mikhail immediately.  But the information she gave of herself was useless. I’m fairly certain she’s gone completely dark.”

 

Mari breathed out, and he could hear her frustration.

 

“If it’s any consolation, she’s off Viktor’s trail.  This was a job, she was professional. If there were an assassination, I don’t know if she would have done it.”

 

Mari grunted her agreement, “Volkov would want to do it himself.”

 

“Agreed.  I’m on my way back to their apartment.”

 

“I had heard they were thinking of visiting Japan soon?”  Mari’s choice changed, it was a subtle change but he heard it clear as day.   _ Please come back to me. _

 

“I think Russia is more likely.  But eventually he’ll want to see your mother again.”   _ I love you, too. _

  
  
  


 

Beatrix had made the Canadian border by the evening.  She had planned that perfectly. Crossing the Blue Water Bridge, she pulled into the Gateway Casino at Point Edward.  She would use this as a chance to rest, plot out her next move and sort out her identities.

 

A modest room and a slim mean refreshed her.  The casino offered a chance to move her money and allowed her opportunity to launder a chunk of it.  She emptied an account under the guise of being in debt to the house, converted it to chips, played moderately, lost only a small sum then cashed out.  In the parking garage she was able to change out her plates and burn the IDs she used to get into the country and stay at the hotel. This was the retirement job.

 

The car held the few items she cared about, clothing, a few guns hidden in the floorboards, cash, and the book she had taken from Viktor.  It wasn’t a proud moment. Standing in that young man’s room, looking at the beautiful life he wanted to lead. The bedroom was soft, sweet and loving.  He had another room for just books. Beatrix was enchanted by the idea. A room of books, with soft blankets and large chairs. She knew she wanted this life as well.

 

Her thumb ran over the spine, the book was old but smelled of nutmeg.  She remembered sitting in that large chair, how soft it was, the touch of that blanket.  Then she saw that book, calling out to her like an old friend. It was a title a girl in school had mentioned, she talked about the characters and what their lives were like. Simple, good, clean.  Beatrix’s hand was on the book, pulling it from its place on the shelf before she even knew it.

 

Then the book was tucked into her jacket.  She didn’t even process that she had stolen it until she was back at the apartment looking at the cover.  It was stupid move, one that could have blown the entire operation. But that book...it wanted her too.

 

In the garage she looked at the book and smiled.   _ I’ll use it to remember you, and when I see you skate, I’ll think of how beautiful you are. _  She took the picture of Viktor out of her bag and tucked it in between the pages.

 

The rest of the drive was easy.  She arrived in Bar Harbour a few days later.  Having driven slowly and stopping to rest. Most people think that running is the best way to not get caught, when in fact, running is the absolute BEST way to get caught.  No one assumes the person walking calmly out of the store is a shoplifter. So she strolled her way to Maine. She strolled down the streets.

 

Bar Harbour was too busy for her.  And she looked around for an Inn close by but far enough to be comfortable.  Beatrix, Jessica as she was known to her neighbors, took her time settling down.  She was in no hurry. After all, she was a widowed woman with a nice inheritance from Massachusetts, looking to retire to a calmer place.   _ Boston is so bustling, fun but busy. _  She told the librarian, Martha, who would become her best friend.   _ The museums are really what makes living in Boston worth it, otherwise it’s actually rather dull, _ she had explained to Paul, the man who sold her eggs at the Farmer’s Market and had tried, unsuccessfully, to take her to the movies every Friday for the full decade it had taken Mari to find her.

  
  
  


“I’ve got two guests coming up for a small anniversary trip this weekend.”  Beatrix told her cook. The inn had done well, and even if it hadn’t it didn’t matter.  “So after the Fosters are out let’s see about making a nice cake for them.”

 

“You got it, Jessie!”  Emily had been a student at the local high school, when she got herself into a little bit of trouble.  The parents, being bigots and assholes, threw her out. That’s when she came to lived with Beatrix at the inn.  She was a marvelous cook, and Beatrix often thought of herself as the girl’s aunt.

 

Living up here had changed her.  She was slower now, less likely to look for the bad in people, although there was plenty to be found.  And she loved Emily and her boy, whom she had talked Emily into naming Viktor.

 

The Fosters were gone by midday and Paul had stopped by with his weekly plea for a date, which Beatrix turned down goodnaturedly as ever.  Then the phone rang, it was Martha.

 

“Yes, he was here again and no I’m not going out.”

 

Martha sighed, this had been their greeting for almost five years now, but it never got old.  “Honestly, Jessica. You’re not dead but you might as well be.”

 

Beatrix turned the corner into the library, an elegant wood panelled room lined with books.  She had dedicated herself to reading... _ most _ of them.  There was still plenty of time for that.  Sitting down in the large, soft chair, she pulled the afghan Emily had crocheted last Christmas for her and breathed deeply in the lavender scent.  To the side was the table with the one picture in the entire inn. A beautiful young figure skater in a lay-back spin, his eyes closed and his face the picture of innocence was encased in a silver frame.  Beatrix picked it and ran a thumb over the smooth metal.

 

“Winter’s coming and I feel like it’s going to be a bad one.”

 

“You say that every year…”

 

“And every year I’m right.”  Beatrix chuckled into the phone.

 

They talked, the usual small town gossip of who was seen doing what with whom, until it turned dusk and Martha chimed off.  Emily came to the front of the house and told her that dinner was ready.

 

“I guess that couple isn’t going to make it tonight.”  She noticed as Beatrix spooned some of the soup into a bowl.

 

“Suppose not.  But maybe they’ll be up tomorrow.  At any rate, the credit card went through.”  Beatrix sighed, she could feel a cold slipping into her bones more easily...or maybe it was just winter.

 

“Well, Viktor and I are heading out to the apartment soon. Will you be alright here alone?”

 

Beatrix waved Emily off.  “I’ve been alone in this big old house many a time, you and your son have a good night.  Are you bringing him by tomorrow?”

 

Emily shook her head, “He’s going on a field trip with some other kids from the Y.”

 

Beatrix smiled at Viktor who was manipulating the spoon to the best of his five year old abilities.  “And where are we going young man?”

 

“Acadia.”  Viktor smiled up at her, his light brown skin and deep brown eyes sparkled at her.  She loved this little boy like a grandson. Which was why last winter, after she recovered from a bad cold, she set up her accounts to fall into Viktor’s ownership, under Emily’s care.  The girl and her little boy, tossed out like rubbish from their wretched family, would be the richest people in town some day. Beatrix only hoped it was enough to make right what she had done to get that large sum.

  
  
  


 

Night fell and Emily was off, having bundled Viktor into the kiddieseat in the back.  The girl had done very well since moving here. She stayed with Beatrix until she had given birth, and for a while afterwards.  But then her baking became famous, and she was able to open a small shop in town. The girl had a head for business. They lived in a small apartment but that’s because Beatrix knew she was saving for a home. Something beautiful and pleasant.

 

She was making a cup of tea that evening, Vivaldi playing in the background, when she heard the car pull up and she knew her time had run out.  Two sets of feet entered the front hall and made their way down to the kitchen in the back.

 

Beatrix was tempted to fight, but then remembered that after Viktor was born she had cleared the house of all weapons.  She was an old woman, armed with a tea kettle.

 

“You’ll join me for tea?”  She asked, not turning.

 

“Yes thank you.”

 

Beatrix started at the voice.  She didn’t recognize it, but the accent.  “Japanese?” She turned, the woman was beautiful.  The man, “I never forget a face.”

 

Akio smiled to her.  “It took us quite a while to find you.”  He sat at the table, taking the cup she offered.

 

Beatrix sat and motioned for Mari to join them.  “I had no intention of being found, you know.” She fixed herself the tea, taking it sweet and white while they took it black.  They drank in silence for a few moments. The tea wasn’t as good as Hiroko’s, just a little local blend that one of the women at the senior center mixed up from her gardner.  But it made a good last cup.

 

“I have something I’d like you to return,” Beatrix rose and noticed how they stiffened in position.  “I’m 72. What fight I had in my body left some time ago. I’ll be right back.”

 

She shuffled into the library and pulled the book from its place.  Bringing it to her nose she inhaled deeply,  _ still nutmeg. _  Hugging the book to her chest she walked back to the kitchen and turned it over.

 

Mari accepted it, looking confused but Akio noticed it right way.  “You did take something. That day, the camera…”

 

Beatrix looked down, ashamed, “Yes.  I supposed it’s far too late to say I’m sorry.”

 

Mari looked up, “It’s never too late for that.”

 

Beatrix sat next to the grown woman.  Taking her hand, “I’m sorry for the part I played, and for the hurt I caused your family.  And I’m sorry I ever upset that young man.”

 

Mari choked back a sob but maintained her composure.  “I forgive you.”

 

Beatrix nodded, “A sweet young girl will come here tomorrow and find me.  I’d prefer she not find a horrific mess.”

 

Akio cleared his throat, “That’s not what we want either.  Emily is a good person. We waited for you to set your house in order for her first.”

 

Beatrix sat back, realizing the implication of his words, “Thank you for that.”

 

She finished her tea, took their cups to the sink and rinsed them out before putting them in the drying rack. She turned back, “Are you going to kill me now?”

 

Akio picked up the milk, walked to the sink and poured it down the drain.  “I already did, five minutes ago.”

 

Beatrix breathed in sharply, “Will it hurt?”  Her voice small.

 

“That’s not our intention.  It’s just that, accounts must be closed.”  Mari filled in. She rose to Beatrix, “Would you like to lie down in bed?”

 

Beatrix smiled at the kind offer, “I’d like to go to my library.”

 

The couple, married for four years with two children, guided the elderly former assassin into her favorite room.  She sat in her favorite chair and pulled the afghan close to her chest. She reached over and held the silver frame picture of Viktor.  “I suppose you’ll want this back?”

 

Mari placed a hand on the picture, “It’s yours.”

 

Beatrix smiled, she felt her eyes grow heavy and soon she was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. We're all done. Many of you have told me you enjoyed my dark fiction, and I'll admit I'm tempted to write something darker. Let me finished Memories and see what I can cook up. If I do this it will be dark because of supernatural, metaphysical elements with villains outside of the YOI universe. Some of you know I wrote a line in which Viktor was horrid and I just can't do that. After Memories I'll only ever see Vitya as a sweet baby in need of love and cuddles.

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't you think it was rather convenient Mikhail being there just at the _perfect_ moment to play the hero?


End file.
